


Language

by the_painless_moustache



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, High School AU, Homophobia, I put the amazing foursome up there but this isn't about them in the least, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Student Stiles, Teacher Derek, Teacher-Student Relationship, Violence, also nose touches, and don't let the character tags fool you, because nose touches are good, but these other guys come in to play too, just so everyone is clear, lots of goodies for everyone, mentions of self harm, the majority of this is all Derek and Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2277384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_painless_moustache/pseuds/the_painless_moustache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles meets his new history teacher by slamming face first onto the floor and admitting that he sort of wants to rub their faces together. And thus begins the best school year of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And Suddenly a Meet Cute

**Author's Note:**

> WOW OKAY MY FIRST COMPLETE LONG FIC HAHAHA  
> This is currently marked explicit but the sex doesn't come until later (you perves)  
> Give it a chance and stick with me. I'm gonna do my best to update once a week. It's all done, so it's just a matter of me remembering to upload ^-^  
> Come say hi on [the tumblr?](http://thepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com/)

 Stiles has a…well, a reputation. He’s not a _bad kid_ , per say, but he’s…not particularly good, either. He’s just a bit spastic. It’s just something everyone knows. So when he skids into class fifteen minutes late, he naturally trips and slams face first into the floor in true Stiles' fashion.

 He hears Scott sigh when he rolls over and holds his nose, hears a few people giggling, and then hears the teacher sigh as well. “ _Fuck_ ,” he whines.

 “Language.” the teacher deadpans. Stiles looks up blearily at him. The guy’s face in unfamiliar, and even if he’s dying he’d remember it. Probably especially if he was dying, because the guy is _gorgeous_. He’s got stubble and green eyes and a jawline sharp enough Stiles could probably slice cheese on it. He blinks at that amazing face and thinks _I’d like that face all over mine_.

 By the way the noise in the room amps up ten notches, Stiles probably just said that out loud. The teacher hauls him to his feet, gestures Scott forward and passes him off. Stiles looks at his hand, sees a fair amount of blood and groans. “God, I hope it isn’t broken.” he whines. “My dad’s gonna kill me.”

 “Take it easy, buddy.” Scott chuckles. “He’s not going to kill you.”

 “He’s got a gun, Scott, I’m not safe. Oh, god, just take me now.” Stiles wails.

 “You just have a concussion, you idiot.” Scott snorts. “If you’d joined lacrosse you’d know what this feels like.”

 Stiles very suddenly feels the need to throw up. “Oh, shit. Scotty, avert your—” He breaks free and scurries to a trashcan, sticking his head in and promptly vomiting out blood and his four Poptart breakfast. Scott pulls him back and gets him to the nurse’s office without any more incidents.

***

 It’s not broken, but when he comes to class the next day—early, this time—he’s got bandages across his face and two black eyes. Everyone titters except for Scott and Allison. And the new teacher, who’s eyeing him like Stiles might just fall out of spite. He waves awkwardly and takes a seat behind Allison. Both she and Scott turn to face him. Allison reaches forward and pets his hair. “How’re you feeling, Stiles?”

 “I busted my face on the floor yesterday morning, threw up in a trash can two doors down, had to get my dad to take me for x-rays, and ruined my favorite shirt. Oh, and did I mention the fact that I totally asked the new teacher to _make out with me?_ ”

 Allison smiles sympathetically, bringing out the friendly crinkles and warming her dark eyes. She cards her fingers through his hair before pulling them away.

 “Dude, you’ll be fine.” Scott shrugs. “Hale’s pretty fair, and you were concussed.”

 “Am concussed, Scott. Concussions don’t go away very easily, apparently.” Stiles sighs, slouching in his seat. Then he sits back up and spits “ _And_ I only got fucking four hours of sleep because of the stupid ‘stay awake’ rule.”

 “Language, Mr. Stilinski.”

 The three of them face the teacher, who’s looking at them from under his impressive eyebrows. Stiles slouches in his seat. The teacher looks back at his notes. “So, class, ignoring the rather dramatic entrance of Stiles yesterday, can anyone recap what we went over?”

 “Military tactics of Incans.” Lydia chimes in airily. Stiles glares at her when she scratches her nose pointedly. She winks and he rolls his eyes.

 “Good. Stiles, do you need help catching up or are you good?”

 “’m fine.” Stiles mutters, twirling his pencil between his fingers.

 The teacher—Mr. Hale, if Scott was to be trusted—looked doubtful, but he let it go and turns to the board, scrawling out a list of words in some surprisingly neat handwriting. Stiles grabs a notebook and copies it down, making a note to ask Lydia about what he needs to make notes on from yesterday.

 If Stiles is good at anything, it’s his notes. He keeps notes by the day. They’re messy, but informative and Stiles can understand them so if he has to go back later and make a cleaner copy for Scott he can. He writes as Hale talks about Incan religious rituals and wonders again why he decided to take South American History. He’s going back and forth on deciding whether it was Scott’s uneven pout or Lydia’s scowl that had him signing up for it when fingers snap in front of his eyes.

 He looks up at Hale and feels himself turn a deep, deep shade of red. “Stiles, I’m sure that historically inaccurate drawing can wait so you can answer my question?”

 He looks at the board for a second, then down at his notes, and blurts “Illapa.”

 Hale looks vaguely impressed. “Good. And the Incan god similar to Poseidon?”

 “Qochamama.”

 “Hades?”

 Stiles pauses here, looks uncertain. “There’s not a real translation to the two cultures, but I guess Ayar Cachi?”

 Hale taps his notebook before sauntering away. “Good. That’s a good point to bring up. People all over the world have had number of religious icons, and we see a lot of similarities in them because they’re used to explain a number of things. However, some religions _don’t_ translate over. Anyone want to guess why?”

 “Language barriers?” Allison guesses.

 Hale nods noncommittally. No one else seems to want to speak up, so Stiles does it. “Climate differences.”

 Hale narrows his eyes. “Explain.”

 “Well, it doesn’t really snow in South America, so there don’t really need a god of snow and ice. Where the Nordic people had like…four. And the same goes the other way. I don’t see Germanic Europe praying to a god for rain the same way you won’t see South American Civilizations praying to a god for good ice fishing weather.”

 Scott snickers behind his hand. Stiles glares at him and then at his notebook.

 “That’s good. Anything else?”

 Stiles glances around and realizes everyone’s looking at him. “What?” he asks the class as a whole. They all swivel around in their seats except for Lydia, who smirks at him. He narrows his eyes and turns in his seat, studiously ignoring her for the rest of class.


	2. And Suddenly a Diner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Stiles thought meeting Mr. Hale was the most awkward it could be, he wasn't counting on his sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may also be called "In Which Erin Wants to Put Stiles in Tight Pants and Awkward Situations"  
> Come say hi on [the tumblr](http://thepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com/) ^-^

 “Dude, those look terribly uncomfortable.” Scott says, staring at his jeans.

 Stiles turns a little, flashing Scott his butt. “Actually, they’re not bad. Lydia bought three pairs for me, told me to break them in.”

 “Your guys’ relationship still weirds me out.” Scott mutters around a spoonful of ice cream.

 Stiles shrugs and taps his pencil on his notepad, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Are you gonna order more than a sundae so I don’t get chewed out or…”

 “Bacon Cheeseburger with barbeque sauce.” Scott spits out. Stiles frowns at the line of ice cream that follows it.

 “Right. One Scott-o-mater.” he says, catching the messy grin Scott sends his way with an eye roll.

 “Scott wants the regular.” he tells Boyd when he slides up to the bar. Boyd doesn’t look surprised, and why should he? If Scott ordered anything else Stiles would probably have a heart attack. “Got any orders for me?”

 “Just for Erica. She’s the most full tonight.”

 The blonde sashays up like her name conjured her straight from a catwalk. “Thank you, Boyd.” she says sweetly. “Stiles, if you’re going to be lazy, you can drop off number eight.”

 Stiles shrugs and grabs the tray, hoisting it onto his hip and hurrying around customers to Erica’s table. It takes all of his will power not to drop the damn food when he sees who’s sitting there. He clears his throat to interrupt the conversation gracefully and sets the food down. “Enjoy your—”

 “Stiles?” Hale blinks in surprise. “You work here?”

 “Ah, yeah…” Stiles scratches the back of his neck and glances back and forth between the woman sitting across from his teacher and the man himself. “You know, okay money.”

 Hale nods. “Right. This is my sister, Laura.”

 He nods to her, and she nods to him with a smirk. “Hi. Okay, I’m just going to—”

 “Wait, wait. I just…I was telling Laura about your interesting connection of climate and religions last week.”

 “Very impressive.” she compliments. She seems to be laughing at something. Probably Stiles.

 “Yeah, well, ADHD gives you a lot of time to think, so.” Stiles bounces on his toes.

 Hale laughs, low and awkward. “That explains a lot actually.”

 “Look, it’s been nice meeting you, but I’ve got work, and…” Stiles inches away.

 Hale’s face turns shocked, like the idea of Stiles working is something he can’t compute. “Oh. Oh, right, yeah, no. Go…work. See you in class.”

 He waves awkwardly and slips away, dodging Matt’s tray with a practiced duck. He thinks he hears Laura laughing, but he can’t be sure and he doesn’t look back to find out. Instead, he ducks into Scott’s table. “He’s _here_.”

 “Who’s here?” Scott asks, mouth poised over his burger.

 “Hale. He’s here. Number eight.”

 “That means nothing to—oh, there he is.”

 Stiles rolls his eyes and drops his head to the table. “God, I hate my life.”

 “Why? Did he make fun of you?” Scott asks around his burger.

 “Introduced me to his sister. But it was just really weird.”

 “Maybe he wants to put his face on your face, too.” Scott suggests, grinning and taking off a chunk of meat.

 “I’m not giving you a ride home.” Stiles declares, standing and slapping the back of Scott’s head on the way to the bar. Erica gives him number eight with a knowing smile and Stiles seriously debates breaking out into a rendition of Matchbox Twenty’s _She’s So Mean_ but instead settles for humming the Wicked Witch of the West theme whenever they cross paths.

 Scott sidles up to the bar at some point and they get into a pretty heated debate about Spock vs. C-3PO when someone knocks on the counter to get his attention. He swivels and puts on his best _I’m interested in every problem you have_ face. It doesn’t last long though, instead turning into a _goddamn it why is my teacher hot_ expression.

 “Hi, Mr. Hale.” Scott says cheerfully.

 Hale glances at him, grins lightly. “Scott. Get your report done?”

 Scott falls suspiciously quiet.

 “Just thought I’d come find my check.” he says to Stiles, raising an eyebrow.

 Stiles turns beat red, immediately rips it out of his pad and hands it over. “I’m so sorry. Can I get you something to go? On me. A drink or desert or—”

 “It’s okay, Stiles.” Hale says soothingly, grinning as he passes over a credit card. “You’re fine. We’re just in a hurry to leave.”

 Suddenly Laura appears, sliding an arm around Hale’s waist and grinning at Stiles and Scott. “Did I hear something about C-3PO being snarkier than Spock?”

 “Stiles thinks Spock is funnier, but C-3PO is obviously the more humorous of the two.”

 “You just don’t appreciate dry humor.” Stiles counters automatically, shrinking a bit when the two Hales lock eyes on him.

 “I hang out with you.” Scott points out, which isn’t totally helpful in his case because he never gets Stiles’ jokes. Ever. Stiles doesn’t mention it though, just passes the card back to Derek and waits for a signature.

 “So who’s this one?” Laura asks no one in particular. Hale turns a little red, stumbling over his words, so Scott introduces himself.

 “I’m Scott. I take Mr. Hale’s South American History class with Stiles.”

 “Oooh.” she drawls, like this explains everything. Stiles doesn’t really like the idea that Hale is talking about his students behind their backs, but he guesses everyone’s allowed to vent sometimes. “Well, I’m Laura. Derek’s sister—ah, sorry, _Mr. Hale’s_ sister.” she corrects, looking up at him smugly. He turns redder.

 “I’ve got tables to wait.” Stiles mutters awkwardly, fleeing from the bar and doing a quick round. By the time he gets back, Hale— _Derek_ —and Laura are gone.


	3. And Suddenly Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every good moment has an asshole just waiting in the sidelines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **OKAY CHAPTER WARNINGS _VERY IMPORTANT TO READ_**  
>  There is a homophobic character and Stiles takes a beating because of it. If you aren't comfortable with that, you _can_ skip this chapter. It gets brought up again but not in detail, so if you aren't comfortable, please feel free to skip!  
>  This chapter is also longer than the first two. Because I realized that it was going to take me 30 weeks to finish uploading this thing if I only uploaded 1,000 words a week. So we're gonna stop that right now and upload more.

 “I expected a little more from you guys.” Hale says on Monday, frowning at the papers in his hands. “Some of you put hardly any thought into this at all.”

 “You asked us to pick a weapon and talk about it.” Greenburg whines. “That’s hardly six hundred words.”

 Hale holds up a stack stapled together, eyebrows going up. “Three thousand words, Mr. Greenburg. That’s what I have here.”

 Greenburg sinks into his seat.

 Stiles is in a fairly good mood today. His nose doesn’t throb anymore and the amount of coagulated blood he snorts out every hour has lessened considerably. So, all in all, he feels pretty confident about the day. He’d even worn those salmon pants Lydia had bought, complete with baby blue striped polo and glasses because contacts just felt wrong today.

 He feels good enough that when Hale hands back his paper and he sees a D minus, it feels like a personal slap to the face. He actually sits back and stares at it, blinks a few times to see if it’ll go away. Scott leans back to peak when Hale’s not looking, winces at it and gives Stiles an apologetic look. Stiles taps Allison on the shoulder. “What’d you get?”

 “B plus.” she whispers back, glancing at his paper. She winces, too. “I thought you said you were confident with this one?”

 “I _was_.” Stiles hisses, glaring at Hale, who’s leaning against his desk and watching the class go over their papers. Stiles flips through his, but there’s no marks. No suggestions. Just that stupid _letter_. The bell rings and everyone files out quickly, before he can chew them out further for failing him so badly. Lydia snatches his paper and then glares at him. “How?” she asks.

 “Good question.” he counters, nodding towards Hale.

 She looks between them, nods like _this_ somehow satisfies her and glides out of the room, hooking her arm in Allison’s to drag her with. Scott gives Stiles a pleading look and flees the moment Stiles waves him off. Stiles clears his throat and shoulders his bag. “Mr. Hale?”

 He glances up from the notes on his desk. “I was wondering if you were going to come up to talk to me about that paper.”

 “I just don’t get it. I did what you asked. I wrote an essay about bolas, which were a South American weapon.”

 “I’m aware of that, Stiles.” he sighs, leaning back on the board. “But I also checked the first sentence of everyone’s essays with Google.”

 “Okay?”

 “Stiles, I could fail you for plagiarizing.”

 Stiles’ stomach drops. “No. _No_. I didn’t, I swear I didn’t. I cited all my sources, I—”

 “The essay is exactly the same to the Wikipedia article I found, Stiles. I’m sorry, this is the best I can do. I know you’re smart. I’ll give you a second chance. But if I see this again, I’ll have no choice. I’m very surprised that you’d do this.”

 Stiles grits his teeth. “I _didn’t_ do this.” he insists.

 “Stiles—”

 Stiles ignores Hale because it clicks. The other day, Greenburg had been complaining—loudly—about the assignment and Stiles had sneered something at him about how it wouldn’t be so hard if he wasn’t such a narrow minded asshole. Greenburg hadn’t seemed to retaliate beyond sneering something about Stiles shoving a dick in his mouth to shut up.

 Now, though, Stiles remembers loaning his flashdrive to a kid in another class so he could print of the notes for their shared presentation. A kid who Greenburg probably cornered and stole the flashdrive from. A kid who had _totally_ given Greenburg access to Stiles’ South American History paper.

 “Stiles are you even listening?”

 “No.” Stiles snaps, throwing his paper at Hale’s desk. He doesn’t really want to get blood on it. He stalks from the room, Hale calling after him. Stiles ignores him in favor of stalking straight to Greenburg’s locker and shoving him into it. The crowd around him circles out to watch the fight. “You homophobic _asshole_. I hope you’re fucking happy, you disgusting _dick!_ ”

 “And you’re obviously a good judge of those, aren’t you?” Greenburg chimes cheerily. “Having one up your ass all the time must provide a unique perspective.”

 Stiles swings, but Greenburg dodges so Stiles’ knuckles crack against the metal locker. Suddenly, he finds himself backed up against it, one arm across his throat. “If you don’t stop trying to grope me, Stilinski, I’m gonna have the principal on your ass.” Greenburg hisses.

 Stiles snarls and kicks up, catching Greenburg firmly in the nuts and sending him to the floor. Stiles then knees him in the teeth, because he _can_ , and only feels a little guilty about the blood that spatters on his jeans. “I may take it up the ass, Greenburg, but I’m never going to be a pussy like you.” he spits.

 That’s when Greenburg’s minions descend, slamming Stiles against a locker and immediately jamming every fist they could into his stomach or face or chest. It goes on long enough that Stiles stops really feeling the pain and only feels the dull thud of knuckles hitting him. They stop, and he drops, slips down the lockers and bangs his head on the way down. He dimly wonders if that’s a problem for his former concussion.

 When the hitting stops he reaches up and prods at his nose, marveling a little that they somehow had avoided his face all together.

 “Stiles, eyes on me.” someone barks.

 Stiles meets bright hazel eyes and focuses enough to say “Oh, you.”

 “Fuck, Stiles, look at me. Keep your eyes on me, okay?”

 “Language.” Stiles groans as Hale drags him up. “Oh, oh no, that’s not…” Stiles swerves. He doesn’t think he hits the floor, but he’s dizzy enough that even if he did he wouldn’t notice. He turns his head and finds a warm shoulder, groans into it. “That fucker,” he groans. “He stole my paper.”

 “How many? Who was it?”

 Stiles just clings to the warm body against his like a koala.

 “Stiles, answer me.” he demands.

 Stiles grimaces. “Uggh…five? Maybe six. I dunno. Greenburg was there. Kneed him in the fucking teeth. Idiot.”

 “Goddamn it, Stiles.”

 “ _Language_.” Stiles gasps, then sobs because _wow_ , okay, breathing hurts now. He curls in on himself. “Want to go home.”

 “I’m getting you an ambulance.”

 He tightens his grip. “No.” he snaps. “No, don’t.”

 “Sit here, Stiles. Just let me call them—”

 “I can’t!” Stiles screams, sits up quick enough that he sees about a dozen Hales and drops back onto the mattress. Because apparently he was in the nurses office now. “No! I don’t want to! Stop!”

 “Stiles! _Stiles!_ ”

 He opens his eyes, catches Derek’s shirt and holds. “Don’t call an ambulance.” he begs. “My dad. Not an ambulance.”

 “Okay.” he soothes, grabs Stiles hands. “I won’t call an ambulance.”

***

 “Holy _fuck_ , dude.” Scott breathes when Stiles retells the story that Thursday. “And your dad’s not pressing _charges?_ ”

 “Greenburg would press back. Technically, my attack was _unprovoked_ and his friends could get off on his defense. Besides, I don’t want to press charges.” Stiles shrugs. “I just want to never see his stupid face again.”

 “Well, actually, you might.” Allison says. “Because you knocked out, like, four teeth.”

 Stiles snorts, pats her hand as a thanks for lightening the mood. Scott looks positively murderous, but he settles back in his seat. Stiles reaches across the aisle to squeeze the back of his neck and Scott sends him a weak glare. A glare that reads _It’s only because you’re asking me not to that I’m not pulverizing every asshole who hurt_ you. Stiles would lie if he said it didn’t warm his insides a little.

 Hale walks into the class looking worn thin, like any wrong movement could set him off. He’s not shaven, instead sporting a pretty impressive shadow of hair across his jaw. His hair is a mess and so are his clothes, really, like he was maybe running late this morning. The class hushes when he walks in like they can sense his temper is slowly rolling to a boil.

 Hale looks down at his notes briefly, looks up at the class, and then turns and writes _HOMOSEXUALITY_ in large, bold letters spanning the entire board. If the class was quiet before, Stiles is pretty sure no one is breathing now. Hale drops the marker loudly. “There’s a lot of controversy with sexuality anymore. Everyone’s always asking what you are, who you want to date, what kind of sex your having.” he says clearly, turning to look at each of them. Stiles notes he skips over him. “But sexuality isn’t new. Sex isn’t new. Sex is something we have been doing from the get go, and sex between two of the same sex is no different.”

 A girl in the back asks, softly and nervously, “Mr. Hale, what does this have to do with ancient militaries?”

 Derek raises both eyebrows. “Nothing, really. Though, if we want to weave it in, Spartan soldiers were all but explicitly encouraged to have sexual relations with their fellow men in order to develop a stronger bond between them.”

 “So why are you talking about it?” a guy puts in, clearly uncomfortable.

 “Because hating someone for who they want to fuck is wrong.” Hale spits.

 The entire class goes still.

 Hale takes a deep breath, runs a hand over his face. “I’m a history teacher. I’m not your mother, your pastor, your boyfriend…I’m just your teacher. But as your teacher, I find it’s my job to educate. So let me educate you. Homosexuality, whether you find it wrong or right, has been around _forever_. There have always been, will most likely always be, homosexuals.”

 “Some animals prefer homosexual relations to heterosexual ones.” Lydia puts in. Stiles looks at her. She doesn’t even glance at him. He’s beginning to wonder if he even exists in this class. “Some even use surrogates to reproduce and then raise the children with their same-sex partner.”

 “Thank you, Ms. Martin.” Hale says kindly, nodding in her direction. “And tell me, if you know, do these species attack each other for their preferences?”

 Lydia seems to consider it. “Not really. I mean, there are acts of violence within a species, but it’s normally over something like mates or food instead of actually over whether or not they want to bone the same sex.”

 Hale looks over all of them again. “So why is it that _we’re_ having problems adjusting to it?” he asks the class in general.

 “Because I don’t want a dick in my ass.” a guy mutters somewhere behind Stiles.

 Hale straightens. The entire class—Stiles included—shrink into their seats. “I don’t like chocolate cake. Do you?”

 “Uh…”

 “ _Do you?_ ”

 “Yeah.” the guy answers quickly. “I mean, I guess. Yeah.”

 Derek moves down the line of desks next to Stiles, stops somewhere behind him and slams his hands down on the desk hard enough that everyone jumps. “How _dare you_. How dare you come to my class and like chocolate cake. You are disgusting and immoral. I could _beat you_ for liking chocolate cake.”

 Stiles turns to see the guy is near tears. He recognizes him as one of Greenburg’s friends. Not from the other day, but someone else. Someone a little more okay with Stiles but a little less comfortable with ‘gay’ as a whole. As much satisfaction as Stiles would get from seeing him reduced to pissing his pants in front of the class, Stiles feels something dark settle in his stomach.

 Hale slams his hands down again. The guy whimpers. “What is your mother going to say? What is your _father_ going to say when he finds out you like chocolate cake? What if he beats you, too? What are _you_ going to do about it, you chocolate-cake-loving _freak?_ ”

 “Stop.” Everyone looks at Stiles. Stiles just looks at Hale. He swallows thickly. “Stop harassing him. You’re not helping.”

 Something flickers across Hale’s face. “I think I’m making a good point.”

 “You can’t scare someone into accepting something!” Stiles snaps. “That makes you no better than the homophobic church groups who picket the funerals of gay teens. You’re just _scaring him_. Stop.”

 Hale stands remarkably straight. Stiles feels the urge to stand up, because he knows he’s only an inch or two shorter than his teacher. But he doesn’t. He does, however, hold his gaze steadily. “Don’t I have the right to scare people?” he asks conversationally. “I’m just expressing myself.”

 “Yeah, well, you’re doing it _wrong_.” Stiles snaps. He stands and shoulders his bag. “I’m out of here.” he mutters. Allison grabs his shirt but he tugs it away with a glare, slamming the door on his way out.

***

 Stiles goes to the pool. He can’t swim because of the bruises on his ribs, but he can dangle his feet in, and he does, considering his life and how _bizarre_ it is. It’s not like he hasn’t had to put up with assholes before. Not like he hasn’t been teased and pushed and beat up because he likes guys. He normally just doesn't care, just takes it and goes on his merry way because even though it _sucks,_ they aren’t going to listen to him. He just does his thing, just tries to be happy.

 He looks over his shoulder when the door slams closed, echoing in the room. Hale pauses, staring at him awkwardly with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Stiles just looks back at the water. “You shouldn’t be in here.” Hale says quietly, moving a few steps closer.

 “You shouldn’t be threatening students.” Stiles throws back casually.

 “I know.” Hale admits, coming up to Stiles side. “The subject got dropped pretty quickly after you left. I guess I went a little far.

“A little.” Stiles agrees with a snort. “Why do you even care, anyway?”

 “I care about my students.”

 “Except for Luke, apparently.”

 Hale huffs a quiet half-laugh, sitting on the tiles next to Stiles, keeping his feet away from the water. “Luke needs to learn that just because he’s not participating in beating you up doesn’t mean he’s not at fault for watching.”

 “So, what, you’re my personal body guard now? Did my dad set you up on detail or something?”

 “Do I need to be?”

 Stiles looks at Hale, surprised to find him already studying Stiles face. The concern, the genuine offer of protecting him, makes his hackles rise a little. “I don’t know, ask Greenburg when he gets his teeth replaced.” he snaps.

 Hale smirks at that. “Went down swinging, I suppose.”

 Stiles shrugs awkwardly. They sit in silence for a little bit, just the sound of the pool water lapping at the edges of the tile for awhile. Finally, Stiles says “I don’t remember a lot from what happened. Just that I got my shit kicked in.”

 “Language.”

 Stiles rolls his eyes. “Just that I got _beat up_.” he amends. He pauses, staring hard at the overly blue water while he gets his thoughts together. “When did you find me?”

 “Must’ve been at least ten minutes after.” Hale answersquietly. “You were unconscious and the whole crew was gone. I was on my way to the office for copies and came across you. I think what pisses me off most is that I couldn’t have been the first one to see you.”

 “Language.” Stiles puts in teasingly.

 Hale huffs. When Stiles turns to look at him, Hale is glaring at the pool water. It looks like he wants to say something, but at the same time he doesn’t know how to phrase it. Finally, he haltingly gets out “Is that the first time this has happened?”

 Stiles snorts, turning to watch his feet kick up some water. “Please. I’ve been openly into dudes since third grade. I’m used to bigots. I usually don’t pay attention to them, and they usually leave me alone, but Greenburg…we’ve got a history.” Stiles sighs, splashing again. “He got a hold of my paper and put it on Wikipedia so you’d find it and fail me.”

 Hale considers this quietly, then stands. “I’ll regrade the paper.”

 “That’s going to piss him off.”

 “It’s not really his business.” Hale retorts. Stiles looks up and sees something fierce in his expression. Something set.

 “No,” Stiles agrees carefully. “I guess it isn’t.”

 Hale nods once and then leaves. Stiles doesn’t even consider going back to class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild [tumblr](thepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com) appears!


	4. And Suddenly Sexual Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott is a terrible friend and Hale is so perfect Stiles kind of wants to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you didn't think I forgot :) See you next Monday

 “Name me an Aztec ki—”

 “Moctezuma!” Scott yells out, nearly falling out of his seat. He looks at Stiles for approval of his pronunciation—they’d spent two hours on Skype last night trying to get it right for this exact moment—and Stiles gives him a smirk and a thumb up.

 “One or two?” Hale asks, raising an eyebrow at Scott.

 Scott blinks blankly and says, nervously, “Two?”

 “Also known as…” Hale drawls, crossing his arms and leaning back against his desk.

 Scott’s face goes white. Stiles leans over and very obviously shoves a piece of paper at him—the notes Stiles had prepared for _this_ exact moment—and Scott takes them quickly, scanning them before reading off “Ill-huck-ima-na?” in a squeak. He looks at Stiles, who gives him another thumbs up even though he’d totally butchered the name.

 Hale eyes the two of them, but he lets it pass. Most teachers did. It wasn’t that Scott didn’t get it, it was just he got _nervous_. He needed the help. Help Stiles was more than willing to provide. They spent late nights working Scott up to answer questions in class, took time to practice quizzes so Scott wouldn’t be crippled by test anxiety. After Allison—and consequently Lydia—it was easier to split up the work between them three, and Scott seemed infinitely more relaxed about school. His mom and teachers were pretty pleased about it, too.

 Which is probably why they’d never bothered to question Stiles’ methods before. Hale, however…

 “Mr. Stilinski, if you wouldn’t mind?” he prompts at the end of class.

 Stiles flinches by the door, catching Scott’s apologetic gaze and nodding his assent to leave. He turns and toys with the strap of his bag. “Yes, Mr. Hale?”

 “Scott,” he says simply, looking away from the sheet of paper he’s been studying and meeting Stiles eyes directly. It sends something down Stiles’ spine. He can’t really put a name to it. “Does he need extra help with the class?”

 “Kind of.” Stiles shrugs, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “He gets it, he just gets nervous. And he can’t do foreign language worth shi—uh, he…can’t pronounce things.” Stiles finishes lamely, catching an eyebrow raise.

 “It’s not your responsibility to help him, you know.”

 Stiles prickles at that. “Are you saying I’m doing something _wrong_ by helping my friend, Mr. Hale?”

 Hale grins, soft and friendly. “No, Stiles. Calm down. I just want to make sure he’s not keeping you from doing the things you need to do. Or want to do.”

 Stiles does calm down a bit, though he shifts a little awkwardly. “No, it’s not. He’s my best friend, you know? We do everything together. And it’s not really a hardship. It helps me study, too.”

 Hale nods. “Okay. As long as he’s not keeping you from other things.”

 “Well, he is my other things, so.” Stiles shrugs uncomfortably. “Could I get a pass to Harris?”

 Hale gets a look on his face, something vaguely disgusted and bothered. “Harris? Why do you have Harris? He teaches Junior Chem this block.”

 “Yeah, well, he failed me last time, so.” Stiles sighs, rolling his eyes. “He’s a dick, pardon my language. But I need the class to get into his AP Senior Chem next semester.”

 Hale looks even more displeased. “You’re taking a class from a teacher you hate so you can take _another_ class from the same teacher?”

 “I’ve got this thing where I want to get into a good school. Also, chemicals.” Stiles grins and shrugs. “Besides, as long as I don’t breathe, he won’t bother me.”

 Hale writes up a pass and hands it over with a distinct frown. “You’ve talked to your counselor about this?”

 “Sure. But there’s not much Morrell can do, you know? I need the class.” Stiles waves and says a quick goodbye before dashing off into Harris’s class. And, of course, even despite his pass, Stiles gets detention for it. He sighs heavily and drops into a desk next to a junior he knows only because they’ve been partners since school began. She blushes and hangs over her notebook, like he’s gonna see her doodling his name in it. He checks, because he’s a dick, and sees not his name but a completely different language. He sighs and leans heavily on his hand.

 Harris is halfway through the class and has made about fourteen jabs at Stiles’ expense when someone knocks on the door. He gets a sour look on his face that Stiles saves in his mind for a rainy day and answers the door. “What do you need?”

 Hale saunters into the room, looking casually over the student body before his eyes land on Stiles. “Ah. There. Mr. Stilinski, if you would?”

 “If this is about the tissue paper thing…” Stiles starts nervously, standing anyway and grabbing his notebook and bag.

 Hale raises an eyebrow. “It’s not about the tissue paper thing.” he says, a clear _we’ll be discussing that, as well_ tone to go along with it. Stiles salutes to his classmates and makes a witty stab at Harris with “Maybe get interesting before I come back?”

 Harris growls something about hoping he never comes back and Stiles finds himself thinking the same thing. The door slams behind him and Stiles rolls his eyes, taking up stride next to Hale. “Thanks, I think. Although, you probably just got me another detention.”

 “You got detention?”

 “For being late.” Stiles confirms, eyeing a spot on his shoe. “Not that it matters. Probably would’ve given me detention for something else. Like distracting my lab partner.” He shrugs and looks up at Hale. “So, what’d you need?”

 “Well, now I’m kind of curious about the tissue paper thing.”

 Stiles grins and winks. “I’ll never tell.”

 Hale snorts and looks away, down the hall. “I talked to Morrell.”

 “Okay?”

 “There’s an online course you can take. Half the time, and no Harris.”

 Stiles stops dead in his tracks, stares because _how?_ “ _How?_ ”

 “She said you asked for it before, but there weren’t any available teachers to supervise your work. I’m free during this period.”

 “ _Why?_ ”

 Hale seems a little more conflicted about this. But he shrugs. “You’re a good student, Stiles. You don’t need teachers like Harris pulling you down.”

 Stiles narrows his eyes. “Harris pissed you off, didn’t he?”

 “Language.” Hale says automatically, shrugging again and heading towards his room. “If you want to go back to his class…”

 Stiles doesn’t _run_ per say, but he sure doesn’t walk either.

***

 “You’re distracting me.”

 Stiles snorts. They had a strange sort of cohabitation, him and Hale. Stiles spent the first three hours of his morning with him, first in South American History and then his hour and a half of chemistry, which is going _amazingly_ well now that Harris isn’t breathing down his neck. He’s two weeks in and way ahead of schedule.

 So sue him if he’s a little antsy.

 “Stiles,” Hale sighs heavily.

 “Give me something to _do_ and I won’t bother you.” Stiles suggests, not even pausing from his pencil drum solo.

 “Write ‘I won’t distract my teacher’ four hundred times.” he deadpans.

 “You’re a charmer.” Stiles retorts, pulling out a sheet of paper because he’s bored and stubborn enough to do it. “Bet you get all the ladies.”

 “Hardly.”

 Stiles laughs, then sees Hale’s face. “Wait, seriously?”

 He looks up at Stiles with both eyebrows raised. “Are your four hundred sentences done?”

 “No, we’re gonna talk about this because _how?_ Do you really not have like a wife or girlfriend or something?”

 Hale sighs and hangs his head. “No, Stiles.”

 “But _how?_ ”

 “Because I’m not interested in having a wife or girlfriend or something.” he snaps. It sounds like this is an old argument. Stiles sinks back into his seat, tapping his pencil on the paper for a moment before Hale glares at him to quit.

 Stiles gets to two hundred and forty before his hand cramps. He stands and stretches his arms above his head, twisting his wrists so the tendons snap. He makes a noise Allison had once called _mewling_ and stretches onto his toes. He jumps when there’s a clatter and turns to watch Hale’s coffee seep _all over_ the papers he’s working on. “Oh, _shit_.” Stiles leaps to help, lifting the pages while Hale finds some discarded napkins in a drawer and wipes it up. “Did you get it on your shirt too?”

 Hale glances down and grimaces. “Today is going to be fantastic.” he sighs.

 “Don’t worry. I’ll fix these.” Stiles nods to the papers dripping in his hand. “Type them up again. They won’t even know it’s a different copy.”

 Hale stares at him long enough Stiles thinks he’s going to either never move again or start yelling. Instead, he turns impressed. “That’s actually a really good idea.”

 “I have those sometimes.” Stiles teases, sitting down with the soggy papers and separating them so they don’t get stuck together. Hale hands him a laptop out of nowhere and he begins to type, now having a purpose to fulfill. The bell rings before he finishes, but he’s got a good chunk of them done. Hale seems to have mysteriously vanished, so he sets the computer in his chair and heads off to his next class.

 When he shows up the next day, Hale looks actually really terrible. He’s wrinkled and his stubble is less artfully trimmed and more frazzled. Stiles gives a low whistle. He’s actually early today, the first kid to class. He tries not to think too much about why that is and instead says “You look awful.”

 Hale grunts and lowers his head to the desk.

 “You’re not hung-over are you? Because speaking as a completely innocent, objective observer, I know that Gatorade and bacon are your friend.”

 He snorts and turns his head to peak at Stiles with one eye. “I’m not hung-over, but thank you for that completely innocent, objective observation.”

 Stiles grins and leans against the desk. “So what was it?”

 “My sister.” Derek sighs heavily, turning his head again.

 Stiles makes a knowing noise, though he’s an only kid and as always been. He jumps up and raps his knuckles on the desk. “Come on, up and at ‘em, sunshine. You’ve got bright young minds to mold.”

“Don’t give me a pep talk.” he sighs heavily.

 “For glory. For honor. For the betterment of man—” Stiles cuts off when Hale starts laughing. Full on _laughter_ that brings a bright grin to Stiles’ own face.  Stiles shoves at his shoulder. “Stop laughing, this is serious.”

 “Oh, deadly.” Hale agrees, but he’s still laughing. He sits back and rubs a hand over his face. “Oh, God. I need about ten more hours of sleep.”

 “You can have one and a half in one and a half.” Stiles says. “I’ve got to finish those papers anyway.”

 He peaks between his fingers. “You don’t _have_ to, Stiles. Those are my responsibility.”

 “Please. Like you could beat these nimble things.” Stiles wiggles his fingers and eyebrows. Hale blushes a little and opens his mouth to respond but Scott appears and jumps onto Stiles unceremoniously with a “You are such a nerd, you know that? Showing up early to class.” Stiles snorts shoulders him off, catching sight of Allison and Lydia sashaying in. He ignores the way Hale keeps staring at him and instead grins and swings an arm around Lydia. “Hello, Lyds.”

 “What do you want, Stiles?”

 Stiles feigns hurt. “What could I possibly want besides the pleasure of your—yeah, okay, stopping that train while I can. I need what you have for flash cards in Lit.”

 “Why didn’t you make your own?”

 “Like I would’ve been able to keep track of them.” Stiles snorts, plopping down in a seat next to her. He doesn’t usually sit here, but class has almost started and someone’s taken up his spot behind Allison. Not to mention getting Lydia’s flashcards are going to take a little work. She’s not the best with Lit and honestly needs them to study. “I just need to borrow them before the test.”

 “ _I’ll_ be using them before the test, Stiles.” she sighs.

 “I thought you loved me.”

 “I love your butt in those jeans.” she corrects, glancing pointedly to the jeans she’d _totally_ bought for him.

 “I will buy three more pair of these if you lend me the flashcards.”

 She seems to be honestly considering it when Hale clears his throat. They turn to the front. He’s looking a little gray again, and everyone seems to notice because the moment he opens his mouth he shuts it and sighs. “Movie?”

 The class cheers. Stiles turns back to Lydia and prepares for negotiations. She seems to be doing the same, considering him heavily. “Three pairs of skinny jeans in any color you choose.” he wheedles.

 “One pair in any color I choose and three new shirts.”

 “Two new shirts.”

 “Three.” she says firmly.

 “Lydia, I work at a _diner_. As a _waiter_.” he hisses as the lights go out. “I can’t afford three shirts of your choosing.”

 “Then you can afford to make your own flashcards.” she sniffs, swinging her head fast enough that Stiles gets caught in a whirlwind of strawberry blonde hair. He spits the tendrils out and lays his head on his arms, frowning as the movie begins to play. Something Hale wouldn’t even bother testing on, no doubt.

 His phone buzzes rather loudly in his pocket and he catches a few glares—not because he’s texting but rather because he could get them _all_ caught—and turns his sound off before checking the messages.

**_Great Scott!:_** _Hale looks rough, dude. What happened?_

**_Me:_ ** _Why would I know?_

**_Great Scott!:_ ** _You spend like ten hours with him every day._

_**Me:** 3, Scotty. Count with me_

**_Great Scott!:_ ** _You know what I mean. So???_

**_Me:_ ** _He might’ve mentioned something about his sister, but it’s not like we had some big heart to heart_

**_Great Scott!:_ ** _You aren’t sleeping with him are you?_

_**Me:** SCOTT NO_

_**Great Scott!:** It’s not like you don’t THINK about it. Or masturbate about it_

 Stiles drops his phone, loud enough to startle Hale out of a nap. He scrambles to shove it back in his pants pocket just as sleepy green eyes narrow on him. “Mr. Stilinski, is there a problem?”

 “Just, uh, a case of butterfingers.” Stiles supplies sweetly. He hears Scott cackling but refuses to look at him.

 Hale, however, takes notice. “Mr. McCall, pray tell what’s so important as to interrupt this lovely free day I’m giving you?”

 Scott howls in laughter, rolls out of his seat. Stiles puts his head in his hands because with his luck, Scott’s going to fucking put the texts on the projector to show _everyone_. Stiles had come clean to Scott a few days ago. It wasn’t any big secret that Stiles was into Mr. Hale, but using your teacher as a way to get off was kind of low. At least for Stiles. Scott had been sworn to silence, never to speak of it again—especially after he’d asked if he was topping or bottoming in the fantasies—but _apparently_ swearing on their bond of brotherhood just wasn’t as serious to him as Stiles.

 “Mr. McCall,” Hale warns tiredly.

 Allison’s next to him on the floor, concern on her face. He shoves his phone in her face and Stiles groans, dropping his head to his desk .This was a disaster. He can hear giggles bursting from her, too, but she gets herself at least a little composed. Composed enough to say “Sorry, Mr. Hale it’s just” giggle “a joke. I’ll take him outside to” snort “to get himself together.”

 Stiles nearly leaps out of his seat when someone digs into his pocket. He makes an indignant noise when he sees Lydia’s manicured hand come out with his phone, immediately tapping in his code and flipping through the messages. She laughs, unashamed, and hands his phone back, standing to follow Scott and Allison out of the room.

 Stiles feels everyone’s eyes on him and decides then and there to just transfer to Alaska. He lays his head down on his desk to hopefully get a _bit_ of privacy. No one says anything, though Stiles feels Lydia scratch his head when his friends finally decide they’re composed enough to be in the same room as their object of amusement.

 After class ends, everyone eyes him curiously. No doubt wondering just _what_ the hell had happened. Hale seems to be of the same mind, because he shuts the door and immediately rounds on Stiles with “What was _that?_ ”

 “That was my friend being a lying liar who lies and doesn’t take our brotherhood seriously.” Stiles mutters, snatching Hale’s laptop with a little more venom than was really required.

 “Is everything okay?”

 Stiles rolls his eyes. “It will be. He’ll buy me a twenty-four pack of Mountain Dew and we’ll be golden. Or at least highly caffeinated.”

 Hale still seems unsatisfied by the answer, but he must know Stiles isn’t going to say anything because he promptly passes out with his head on his desk. Stiles works diligently at the essays, sending them to print and using the walk to text a string of creative swearwords to Scott. Once he’s got the essays stapled together, he feels something like satisfaction. He’d never been really sure where his life was headed, but maybe clerical work wouldn’t be so bad if he had to do it.

 He drops the papers on Hale’s desk, but the noise doesn’t even make him stir. So Stiles pokes the center of his head, wondering at how…well, _soft_ his hair is. “Wakey wakey.” Stiles sings.

 Hale grumbles and pulls his arms over his head. It’s kind of adorable. Stiles gets on his knees and starts hooking paper clips into his hair. It’s not curly, but it’s thick, so they stick pretty well. Stiles wastes a good fifteen minutes doing this before trying for a pencil. This, miraculously, seems to startle him awake. He jerks up, paperclips flying out and landing…somewhere. Stiles snickers. “You’ve got a little something…” he gestures to his own hair.

 Hale frowns and reaches up to run a hand through his office-supply-littered locks. He dislodges the rest of the decorations with a frown and a shake of his head. Stiles ducks behind the front of the desk to avoid shrapnel. When the attack is over, he peaks above with a grin. “Morning. You have very nice hair. Good for storing things in.”

 Hale sighs and glares at him. “What do you need, Stiles?”

 “I finished them.” He nods to the pile of papers. “Coffee free and just as originally written. Which was horrible, let me tell you. Some of these guys.” He winces. Hale grunts in agreement. He doesn’t seem to be very verbal when he’s tired. Stiles can’t relate, but he understands. He looks at the sheets disdainfully, like they’ve wronged him by existing. Stiles throws a wayward paperclip at him. “Don’t glare at my wonderful masterpieces.” he orders.

 “What was up in class today?” Hale asks.

 Stiles takes a moment to register the change in pace. “Uh, I told you. My best friend’s an asshole. Loveable, though. Practically a puppy. Actually, there’s a funny story about—”

 “Stiles, three of my students were laughing hard enough they had to _leave the room_. You were beat red. You guys disturbed the whole class.”

 “You mean we disturbed your nap.” Stiles teases.

 He glares.

 Stiles rolls his eyes and stands, shrugging. “I don’t know what to tell you. My friend showed he’s an unreliable secret keeper. Stop trying to protect me all the time.” Stiles throws another paperclip at Hale. “I may look weak and skinny but I’ve got muscle, okay? And a wicked tongue.”

 Hale’s ears turn pink. Stiles feels himself heating up, too. His teacher clears his throat and looks at the papers again. “Thanks for helping me out.” he says, a little overly loud. Like he needs to break the tension with volume.

 Stiles shrugs. “Yeah, well. Least I could do. You’ve saved me from idiots more than once, so I kind of owed you.”

 “You don’t owe me anything, Stiles.”

 Stiles looks at him, catches his eyes. They hold. Stiles feels _something_ twisting in his stomach, making his face hot. He doesn’t have bruises or scabs anymore. He’s had a good month. He _feels_ good, has even gotten back into swimming finally. So he knows he looks good, too. Watches Hale’s eyes go over him in little jerks, afraid to linger too long anywhere. Stiles can’t do anything to stop him without ruining whatever they have going, and he really doesn’t want to.

 Hale opens his mouth and closes it a few times, obviously struggling for the right words. He eventually settles for just meeting Stiles’ eyes again, frustration and confusion in them. Stiles clears his throat and looks at the floor. “Maybe I wanted to do it.” he settles on saying. “Wanted to help out someone who helped me out.”

 “Okay.”

 Stiles glances up at him, nods. “Okay.”

 He turns and sits back at his desk, pulling out his phone and texting Scott that everything that has ever gone wrong in Stiles’ life has totally been his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr!](http://www.thepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com) :)


	5. And Suddenly Inappropriate Conduct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles life can be summed up pretty well by how much power he gives Lydia in his clothing choices without actually getting anything in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's alternative title was "Erin wants Lydia to take Stiles shopping (and cockblock him with the cute store guy)"  
> The alternative alternative title was "Everyone wants Stiles and Derek to bone"

 “Why are you here?” Stiles groans.

 Lydia sashays in looking perfect despite the fact it’s _six in the morning_ on a fucking _Saturday_. “I’m taking you shopping, remember?”

 “At _noon_.”

 “Well, we need some time to get there.” she says airily, sitting on his couch. She looks out of place on it, with her legs crossed elegantly but leaning back because Stiles’ couch has a tendency to swallow its occupants.

 “Where are you taking me?” Stiles mutters, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He doesn’t sit. He knows if he does Lydia will just make him stand back up and he doesn’t have the momentum for that.

 “Sacramento.”

 “ _Lydia_ , that’s almost _four hours_ _away_.”

 “It’s three and forty eight minutes.” she corrects condescendingly. Like _almost_ wasn’t good enough. It probably isn’t, now that Stiles thinks about it.

 “If you think I’m driving—”

 “You are.” she says easily, eyeing her nails.

 “ _Lydia_. I have to buy the clothes _and_ go all the way to Sacramento _and_ fucking _drive?_ ”

 She shrugs.

 “Can we at least take your car?”

 She rolls her eyes. Stiles sighs heavily and flips her off when he goes to get dressed.

 She makes him change four times until he puts his foot down. So gray shirt and red hoodie it is. She lets him wear the dark wash jeans that are a little faded in the knees from Stiles falling so much, so Stiles counts it as a victory. She even lets him go through the McDonald’s drive through without complaint as well.

 She doesn’t, however, let him play his music. Not that he minds. They have pretty similar tastes, though when Brittney Spears comes on he skips it with a firm “ _No_.”

 She takes him to someplace way too expensive for him. The lady at the register looks amused while the guy folding shirts next to her eyes Stiles up like someone he either wants to fight or fuck. Stiles wouldn’t mind the latter, honestly. The dude is kind of beautiful.

 Lydia doesn’t let him chat, though, instead stating simply “He needs new clothes.” and shoving him into a dressing room.

 Stiles catches flying articles of clothing intermittently, juggling between them and his own. He comes out in the first outfit that sends Lydia into a hissy fit about color matching and patterns or something. He doesn’t pay attention beyond promising not to do it anymore. She stomps off in search of more clothes and rolls his eyes as he turns to look at himself.

 Folding Guy comes up to him and fixes his already totally fine collar. “I think you look good.” he says.

 “Thanks. She’s a little, uh…” Stiles searches for some way to describe Lydia. Then he shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

 “Your girlfriend’s high maintenance.” he supplies helpfully, grinning at Stiles over his shoulder.

 Stiles smirks back. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

 The guy’s eyebrows shoot up, and the smile widens. “And you let her pick out your clothes?”

 “I lost a bet.” he lies, turning around and leaning against the wall in probably the smoothest move he’s made in, well…years.

 “He’s an idiot.” Lydia argues while grabbing his arm and shoving him back into the dressing room. “He needs my notes.”

 “I need your flashcards!” Stiles argues, catching a new shirt with a huff. He peels the old one off and hears Folding Guy say “Oh, are you guys in college?”

 “High school.”

 Stiles wants to brain himself on the wall.

 “Oh.”

 Stiles comes out in the new shirt—a really soft v-neck in green—and turns in a circle for Lydia. She seems to approve of this, because she doesn’t say otherwise. Folding Guy has disappeared. Stiles can’t blame him.

 In the end, he comes out of the store with eightnew shirts and three pants because Lydia doesn’t take no for an answer. He’s considerably poorer and is in the middle of setting up a shift switch with Erica when Lydia jabs an elbow into his ribs. He juggles his phone, barely managing to catch it, before glaring at her. “What now?”

 “Your teacher crush is over there.”

 Stiles looks even though he knows who he’s going to see. Hale seems to be in the middle of an argument with Laura. He shrugs and hopefully manages not to look as panicked as he feels. “Good for him. Let’s go.”

 “Let’s say hi.” Lydia suggests instead, hooking their arms together and tugging him towards the Starbucks.

 “Lydia, he looks kind of busy!” Stiles argues. He could probably pull her to a stop if he tried, but it’s _Lydia_. He’d go straight for her, if they weren’t more like brother and sister now. He does tug her to a stop, but they’re only a few feet short so he keeps his voice down. “Let’s just get coffee and go, okay? And you’re buying because you made me buy _way_ more than you said you would.”

 She frowns, but Stiles holds steady. He can bend on a lot of things for Lydia Martin, but _this_ he would not. Because they’d had a moment, okay? Him and Derek Hale had had a moment and he _knew_ it. He also knew that nothing could come of it, and running into each other in Sacramento? Not the way to avoid trouble.

 Lydia pouts, but she doesn’t argue. So Stiles tightens his grip on her arm and drags her into the shop, ducking his head to avoid drawing attention from the bickering siblings. Lydia takes the bags and sits because the line is atrocious. Stiles sticks his hands in his pockets and studies the menu, because while Lydia was reliable with a chai tea latte, he needed something a little stronger.

 Suddenly, a hand clamps down on his shoulder. Stiles leaps ten feet into the hair and spins on his heal to see Laura looking like he’s the best surprise ever. “ _Stiles!_ ”

 “H-hi.” he stutters, blinking a little. “Um, Laura. Right?”

 She smiles wider. “Yeah! Hey! What are you doing here?”

 “Coffee.” he says. Laura has a big personality. He’s normally full of words, but she seems to just push them straight to the bottom of his feet.

 “I meant in Sacramento.” she laughs.

 “Oh, uh, shopping trip.” he says, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. Her hand’s still on his shoulder. He wonders if he could shake it off casually, but figures it’s best not to try. Laura feels like she might know how to decapitate someone with a stirring stick.

 “Long way for a shopping trip.”

 “Lydia thinks my wardrobe is toxic and tends to drag me as far away from my regular stores as possible.” Stiles says with a small laugh. “She likes that I’m easier to control when I’m not in my element.”

 Laura’s hand falls—thank god—and her smile turns polite. “Lydia?”

 “Over there.” he points. Lydia’s ignoring him, on her phone. Probably with Aiden. Or Jackson. Maybe both. Stiles doesn’t like to keep track of her men.

 “Oh, she’s pretty! How long have you guys been together?”

 “Oh, we’re not…I mean, I’m not…” Stiles swallows and shifts forward with the line. “We’re not together.”

 “Do you let all your friends buy you clothes?” she teases.

 Stiles laughs again, this time loudly because the idea of his friends buying him anything is pretty hilarious. “No. Lydia makes me buy those myself. Unless I put my foot down, which I can’t bring myself to do. Her face is too pretty, I guess.”

 “A girl can go a long way with a pretty face.” Laura agrees, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Just look at me.”

 “Yeah? What do you do?”

 “District attorney.” she says proudly.

 Stiles gapes a little. “Wow. _Wow_. That’s amazing. My dad’s Sheriff back home, so maybe you know him?”

 “Wait. Stilinski. Stiles _Stilinski_.” she points at him dumbly. Stiles feels like he’s just grown an extra head. She’s staring at him like he has. Then she begins to laugh. “Okay, that makes a little more sense.”

 “Do I look like a Sheriff’s kid?” Stiles asks. It’s supposed to come out as a joke, but the back of his neck is heating up and he keeps scratching at it. He’s dad’s gonna be pissed when he comes home with his neck raw.

 “No, no, it’s not that. Never mind. It’s…it’s a long story. Derek’s just over there.” she points. “If you and Lydia want to join us.”

 Stiles feels his stomach clench. “Ah, we can’t. We’re just getting coffee to go and then we’re headed home.”

 “Oh.” There’s a distinct hint of disappointment in her words.

 Stiles ignores it because—thankfully—he’s up. He orders quickly and gives Laura a quick goodbye smile. She’s watching him, and he doesn’t really like it. It feels like she knows something he doesn’t. He gets the coffee and whistles for Lydia. She recognizes the sound—he’s done it enough—and frowns at him. She trades him the coffee for the shopping bags, and says “Don’t whistle at me. I am not a dog.”

 “No, but you _are_ kind of a bitch.”

 She tries very hard not to laugh at that.

***

 Because Stiles life is a series of increasingly unfortunate events, he runs into the Hales again on Sunday.

 “Hello, my name is Stiles, what can I—oh, shit.”

 Hale looks up and blinks before laughing awkwardly. “Suppose I can’t yell at you for language outside of school.”

 “Uh, sorry. Wasn’t expecting you.”

 “I’ll try to warn you next time.” It sounds more like a question than a joke now.

 Stiles realizes there’s another person with him and looks over at his sister. “Hi.” he says dumbly.

 “Hi.” she repeats, grinning. She looks like she wants to eat him alive. Stiles is considering just letting her so he doesn’t have to be here anymore.

 Hale clears his throat. “You remember Laura.”

 “Yeah, hi.”

 She tries very hard to smother a laugh when she repeats “Hi.”

 He clears his throat and looks at his notepad, feeling a blush creep up his neck. “Drinks?”

 “Chocolate milkshake for me.” Laura says cheerfully.

 “Water.” Hale mutters.

 Laura snorts. “He’ll have the same as me.”

 Stiles glances up at them, pauses at Hale to see if he objects, but he just looks resigned. So Stiles scratches off the water and makes the milkshakes, which he delivers without incident before taking their order and promptly handing the table off to Erica, who spends the rest of their shift complaining about it.

 On Monday, though, Stiles has nowhere to run when he sees him. Hale is sitting outside the school with coffee and seems…frantic. The moment he sees Stiles he leaps up, which shakes the coffee from his grip and sends it onto the ground. The few students still outside look at him and a few near the splash groan because they now had coffee all over their shoes.

 “Good morning?” Stiles asks, a tiny bit hopefully.

 Hale swallows and stands, coffee cup probably empty now. “What did Laura say to you? In Sacramento?”

 Stiles blinks a few times, surprised Laura had even told him they’d spoken. “Just hi. We talked about my dad for a second, I guess. Why?”

 Hale is turning increasingly red. Stiles is about to mention it—he’s actually pretty concerned—when Hale clears his throat and looks at their feet. “I—she said she saw you. I was just…worried she’d said something inappropriate.”

 Stiles shrugs. “Not really. But she’s kind of…incredibly frightening.”

 He laughs at that, all the tension visibly easing out of him. He claps Stiles on the shoulder and says “You have no idea.”

 They walk to class together. Most everyone is still milling about even though the bell’s rung and Stiles takes his seat next to Lydia because there’s a curly-haired kid behind Allison again. He and Scott seem to be getting along, so that’s eases Stiles’ bro-tection instincts considerably.

 “Nice chat?” Lydia asks sweetly.

 Stiles looks at her. “I guess.”

 “You guys are cute together.”

 “ _Lydia_.”

 She shrugs and looks at the considerably neater notes in front of her. Stiles manages to focus for all of five seconds before his brain goes off into a whirlwind of ideas. He sighs and gives up, letting his head hit his desk. Hale doesn’t say anything, which probably says a whole lot more than pointing it out would. By the end of class, Stiles can _not_ sit through another. He jumps up with the rest of the class and has almost cleared the room when Hale says “Stiles, wait.”

 He turns and puts on his best puppy dog face. “I can’t focus on anything. Can’t I just go swim?”

 “I just…” Hale sighs, shuts the door in front of Stiles. Suddenly, Stiles feels really, _really_ boxed in. “We need to talk.”

 “Oh.”

 Derek flushes. “Look, Stiles…”

 “Wait, before we have this conversation, I think I should make it clear that I was _severely concussed_ when I said I wanted your face on mine. Which, uh, I mean, it’s not _not_ true, but we can…I had a head injury, so we can just ignore it if you want. Which you should. I mean, not that I’m against rubbing faces with you.” Stiles feels all the blood drain from his face. “ _And wow_ , okay, I didn’t just say that. I’m leaving now.”

 “Stiles.”

 He’s shaking now. _Fuck_ , he is so nervous. He _literally_ just admitted—for all intents and purposes under full control of his body and mind—that he wants to make out with his _teacher_. Hale takes his arm. He tries not to flinch away, but it’s hard. He’s going into panic attack regions and if he doesn’t get out of here and into the pool it’s going to only get worse.

 “Stiles,” he says again, softer. “Breathe.”

 He does. It’s stupid, but having Hale telling him to makes it easier. Like it’s allowed. He’s not sure what’s allowed anymore. Hale starts moving a little closer. Stiles backs up into the door, because if he doesn’t he is going to faint. He is _seriously_ on the verge of blacking out. “Mr. Hale?”

 “Derek,” he mumbles. “Just Derek.”

 The kiss is chaste, which is probably good considering the fact Stiles is near tears with how much energy is going through him right now. He’s not sure he could’ve kept his teeth in check. Derek pulls back, looks over his face and kisses him again, a little slower, a little softer, but no less chaste. Suddenly, everything clicks. Stiles fight or flight response is useless here. He’s okay. He collapses heavily into Derek’s arms, reaches up and grabs his neck to pull him a little closer. Derek moves a step forward but cuts off the kiss. “Okay?” he asks.

 Stiles nods. He can’t use words. His eyes can’t decide if they want to look into Derek’s or look at his mouth, like maybe kissing Stiles has changed it. It’s maybe a little more red, but there’s no notable difference. He blinks up at Derek, settles on his eyes. Derek leans forward and kisses him once more. It’s so _good_ , and it shouldn’t be. It’s just Derek fitting their lips together, just a _tease_ of what could be happening, but Stiles really, really loves it.

 “Still need to go for a swim?” Derek rasps, mouth still _so_ close.

 “No.” Stiles mumbles. “Though a cold shower wouldn’t be missed.”

 Derek snorts, bumps their noses together. It’s such an affectionate gesture. Like he’s been thinking about it. Like he’s been _hoping_. Stiles leans up and kisses him this time, a little more firm and heated. Derek presses him back against the door and breaks it before it can even properly start. “Need to be careful.” he mutters as an explanation.

 Stiles tries for a laugh, but it’s breathless. “Thought maybe I was just a bad kisser.”

 Derek laughs again. “You aren’t.” he promises.

 “Okay.”

 “Is this okay?” Derek asks again, meeting Stiles eyes. Stiles can’t remember the last time he saw someone look so scared and so hopeful. Maybe when Scott had asked Stiles if he thought he had a shot with Allison. Stiles thumb finds its way to Derek’s cheekbone, rubbing across the stubble curiously.

 “Yeah,” he murmurs with a nod. “This is good.”

 Derek closes the distance. He doesn’t stop this time, not for longer than a second to draw air. He doesn’t stop when Stiles lips part, doesn’t stop when he flicks a tongue out to catch Derek’s lip. Doesn’t stop when Stiles is definitively _making out_ with him. Stiles is very, very ecstatic to find there’s not a whole hell of a lot that will stop Derek from groping him against his classroom door.

 Except for maybe someone knocking on said door. They both freeze. The handle shakes and someone shoves against the door. It doesn’t budge, because there’s two grown men pressed against it. “Mr. Hale?” Harris shouts. “Open this door!”

 Stiles whispers a quiet _fuck_ and Derek presses his hands into the door, jerking his head for Stiles to duck under his arms and take up a more neutral position. It takes a little work, but Stiles gets himself together in a decent enough amount of time that when Derek says “Sorry! Door’s stuck!” it seems plausible. Derek rips it open once Stiles is straightened up and Harris tumbles in, almost faceplanting. Not much could make his day better, but seeing Harris bust his face on the floor might’ve done it.

 He straightens up with an angry mutter and points at Derek. It’s kind of comical. They’re the same height, but Derek is literally twice as wide and probably had four times the amount of muscle mass. Still, Harris is a slimy bastard. Stiles sure didn’t trust him. “You!” Harris hisses, glancing over at Stiles. When the student registers, Harris turns a brilliant shade of red and jabs his bony finger at him. “ _You!_ This is your fault, I _know_ it is!”

 Derek raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “What, exactly, is his fault?”

 “The lab exploded last week,” Harris grits out. “The compounds were mislabeled.”

 “That wasn’t my fault!” Stiles snaps. “The same thing would’ve happened last year if I hadn’t _stopped it!_ And then you _failed me_ for it!”

 “You’re constantly getting yourself into trouble.” Harris hisses. “You didn’t need my interference to fail that class.”

 “Stiles, go ahead and tell Mr. Harris where you’re at in chemistry right now.” Derek says casually, crossing his arms and studying Harris.

 “I’m three weeks in and about three fourths of the way through the work.” Stiles says, glaring.

 Harris growls at Derek “He’s _lying_.”

 “Then _I’d_ be lying. Are you accusing me of lying, Mr. Harris? If you are, I’d take it up with the principal. If you’re not, _leave_.”

 Even Stiles flinches. He’s seen Derek angry before, and this is working up to it. Like a pot of nearly boiled water resting over a fire. Harris sputters for a few minutes, something unclear and argumentative before pointing another finger at him and saying “I’m not done with you!”

 Derek slams the door behind him. “Dick.” he mutters.

 “Language.” Stiles says. When Derek levels a look at him, he grins innocently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a contest going on on my [tumblr](http://notthepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com/post/99227849805/because-youre-all-great-and-i-cant-draw) right now! I broke 300 followers, so I opened up my fanfiction folders for you to explore. Vote on which folder you want open and then you guys get to decide which story you want to see published :) And hey, if you want to follow me...I won't say no ;)


	6. And Suddenly Relationships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles knows they should probably talk about all of this. But Derek is sort of a _really_ great kisser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I BET YOU THOUGHT I FORGOT  
> I DIDN'T  
> And for those interested in my Sterek fics, I have something exciting for you in the end chapter notes

 The next day is kind of a disaster, and Stiles is proud to say it is not his fault. He comes to school at a normal time, walks into class with his friends, turns to smile at Derek—completely innocently, thank you very much—and Derek…well…

 Derek knocks over everything.

 That sort of sets the tone for the class. He fumbles his words and can’t seem to look at any of the students for more than a second at a time. More than once he swears not-so-under his breath. By the end of class his hair is sticking up and he’s collapsing miserably into a chair. Stiles waits for the hallways to quiet down before standing and shutting the door softly. He frowns at Derek, concerned. “Hey, are you okay?”

 “That was awful.” Derek croaks. “God, I don’t—how am I supposed to _look at you_ without wanting to…” he trails off, burying his head in his hands. “I’m such a terrible person.”

 “No you aren’t.” Stiles sighs, taking a seat on his desk and pulling his head into his lap. Derek sighs heavily into his thigh and lets him play with his hair. “You just weren’t ready for it. It’s okay.”

 “I couldn’t stop looking at you and seeing you all—” he cuts off with a growl. “I’m so fucked, Stiles. I can’t sit here and _teach you_ when all I want to do is get into your pants.”

 “Language.” Stiles hums. Derek huffs unhappily. “You could imagine me in my underwear, if that would help.” Derek sighs, coaxing a grin to Stiles face. “You could imagine me _out of_ my underwear.”

 “I hate you.”

 “You don’t. Just don’t think about it, okay? You’re freaking out because you’re guilty, which you don’t need to be. I’m a consenting adult, alright? I am of sound body and mind, and I am fully consenting to a relationship with you.”

 Derek turns his head to squint up at him with one eye. Stiles just stares patiently back, fingers pulling on the amazingly soft hairs on Derek’s head. Derek finally sighs and sits up, getting a fist into Stiles’ t-shirt and pulling him down. Stiles hums against his mouth, enjoys the way their lips fit together, all soft and pliant. When he rocks back, Derek’s eyes aren’t full of misery any more. They’re warm, beautiful. Stiles reaches up to brush his thumb under one of them. “You’re awfully pretty.” he says at last.

 Derek snorts. “Well, like wants like.” he murmurs, squeezing Stiles’ thigh a bit. “We should probably not make out the whole hour, though.”

 Stiles grins. “You sound _really_ convinced, Mr. Hale.” Derek’s pupils dilate as his breath catches. Stiles smile widens and he leans down to press another soft kiss to Derek’s mouth. “But I’ll humor you. Because I’m a good boy.”

 “Stiles…” Derek groans.

 Stiles outright laughs.

 The rest of the week is better. By Friday, Stiles is pretty sure they have some kind of agreement. Unspoken, but there. They do their best to act normal in history and try to keep their hands to themselves in the free period because Stiles needs to pass the class, and even though he’s way ahead he can’t afford to get behind because Harris is on them _all_ the time about it.

 Stiles gives Derek his number before the weekend, tells him he can use it or not. He’s only two feet out the door when his phone buzzes. He opens the text and snorts, turning around to glare at Derek who’s just leaning against the door frame with a stupid grin on his face. He saves it because how many times in his life is he going to have his hot teacher boyfriend sending him _I like your ass in those jeans_?

 On Saturday, Scott shows up bright and early and begs Stiles to go for a run with him. Stiles isn’t sure why he says yes—he really hates running, and Scott has _asthma_ —but he thinks it might have to do with Scott promising to pay for the movie they’ll rent after.

 So he’s running in a ratty tanktop and basketball shorts next to Scott, encouraging him and reminding him they can _totally_ stop _whenever_ when the Frisbee somehow nails him in right the head. Stiles stumbles, trips on his own feet and hits the ground with a yelp. Scott stops running and at least checks to make sure he’s not _severely_ injured before laughing himself into an asthma attack.

 “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t see you!” a girl cries, running up to them.

 “How did you _not_ see me? You totally bullseyed my head.” Stiles laughs, because he’s really okay but the embarrassment is pretty thick. He looks up at the girl above him and vaguely recognizes her. “Hey, you were my lab partner in Harris’ class.” he remembers. The dark hair is the give-away. She’d used it to curtain her notebook. Stiles would know that hair anywhere.

 “Kira.” she says, helping him up. “And really, I didn’t see you, I promise.”

 “Trust me, that was _all_ Stiles.” Scott cackles.

 Stiles shoves him into the ground. “Don’t mind him. He’s an idiot.”

 “Oh.” Kira looks vaguely amused but still awkward. Stiles feels a kinship with her immediately. “I don’t see you in Harris’ class anymore.” she comments to Stiles.

 “Dropped it.” Stiles shrugs. “Found a better alternative.”

  _An alternative with abs and stubble and a really,_ really _good tongue…_

 “Oh, cool!” Kira chirps. “Did you, um…my friend and I were just playing. Do you guys want to join?”

 Stiles looks at Scott and shrugs. “Your call, macho man.”

 “Sure. You run in Frisbee, right?”

 “If you want to win.” Kira laughs, picking up the disc while Stiles picks up Scott. “That’s Malia scowling over there. She doesn’t really like people.” Kira tugs on her ponytail.

 “Then we will get along swimmingly.” Stiles assures her.

 They do, actually. Malia seems to take an almost immediate liking to Stiles, though he can’t say why. She claims him on her team and Kira awkwardly introduces herself to Scott again. Scott is pretty enamored with her, enough so that Stiles totally nails him in the stomach.

 Stiles is still laughing about it on their way home, movie in hand. “God, dude. You’re such a _dork_.”

 “Shut up.”

 “So what’s going on with you and Allison? Because, I mean…you guys were on last I heard but you were kind of checking out Kira.”

 Scott laughs nervously. “Honestly?”

 “Yeah, man.”

 “You know Isaac? The curly-haired guy that sits behind her now?”

 Stiles knows. He nods.

 “We’re sort of all…together.”

 Stiles takes a minute to take this in, but he just nods. “Okay. You’re cool with it?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Allison’s cool with it?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Isaac?”

 “Yeah.”

 Stiles shrugs. “Then I’m cool with it, too.”

 Scott’s smile is stupidly happy. He throws an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and beams. “Knew I could count on you, man.”

 “So is Kira gonna be number four or…”

 Scott shrugs, though he blushes. “I don’t know if they’d even want that. And I barely know Kira anyway!”

 “I’m officially taking note of how that was your _second_ objection to the foursome, not the first.”

 Scott blushes a deeper red. Stiles just laughs at him until they get to the house. His dad isn’t there, so they take the living room instead of the basement. Stiles sends him to set the movie up and puts himself in charge of snacks. He grabs his phone while he’s at it, too, because it’s blinking at him from the kitchen counter anyway.

 There’s a message from his dad—a response telling him to have fun with Scott—and two from Derek.

  ** _Derek:_** _Hey, are you free today?_

_**Derek:** Sorry, stupid question. You’re high school student on a Saturday. If you’re free, I’m taking away all teenager privileges_

 Stiles snorts and sticks four hotpockets in the microwave. Technically not the safest, but he’ll deal. While he waits, he sends back _I’m not free, but I resent you trying to take away my teenager privileges. Those were hard earned, buddy, and I will Boston Tea Party your ass_

 Derek’s response comes not long after. _How would you go about doing that? I don’t exactly sell you tea for an unfair price_

_**Me:** I’ll boycott your class. Both of them. Or…no, just the second one. I can’t afford to boycott the first._

**_Derek:_ ** _You’re a real rebel, Stiles_

 “Dude, what’s taking so long?”

 “Hotpockets.” Stiles explains, nodding to the running microwave.

 Scott sighs and starts digging in the fridge. “Who are you texting?” he asks, which is actually a really good question because Stiles texts like three people and Scott’s here. He can’t really say Lydia or Allison, because if Scott asks he’ll be outed. So he goes for the more honest option. “Just a guy.”

 Scott comes out with a mouthful of sliced turkey. “Af guyf?”

 “Swallow, Scott.” Stiles says, but not before snapping a picture. “And yes. You don’t have to sound so _surprised_. I can text guys.”

 Scott does swallow, but he still stares at Stiles. Then he stares at Stiles phone because it buzzes and _shit_ , Stiles needs to keep his phone as far as possible from Scott. He pushes it into his pocket in hopes to deflect the conversation. “Dude, _chill out_.” Stiles says, kicking at him. “You’re freaking me out.”

 “But, _Stiles_. You didn’t even tell me you _met_ a dude. What’s his name?”

 “Uh…” Stiles blinks. “Derek.”

 “Where’d you meet him?”

 Stiles has been pretty honest thus far, but he has to draw the line somewhere. “Sacramento. He, uh…worked at a clothes store Lydia took me to.”

 Scott grins. “Did you have dressing room sex?”

 “ _Scott! No!_ ”

 Scott cackles and plucks his hotpockets from the microwave. “Come on, movie’s waiting.”

 Stiles frowns at him until he leaves before pulling out his phone.

  ** _Derek:_** _What are you doing tomorrow?_

_**Me:** Burying my best friend’s body. He thinks I’ve been having hot gay sex with a Sacramento retail worker and not telling him. Apparently I missed the memo about it_

 There’s a long pause between answers. Stiles takes his hotpockets and plops down next to Scott, having a brief foot wrestling competition for space on the couch before they decide to share. They’re just getting into the meat of the movie when his phone buzzes against his thigh. He picks it up without thinking, half a hotpocket in his mouth.

  ** _Derek:_** _Have you been having hot gay sex with a Sacramento retail worker?_

 Stiles kicks Scott when he snickers because Stiles is blushing now. _Why? Want to hear about it?_

**_Derek:_ ** _Rather be the retail worker, if we’re being honest._

 Stiles laughs but it’s more than a joke. He knows it. If Derek had been some retail worker in Sacramento, they totally would have been having hot gay sex in the dressing room. But Derek is his teacher. His _teacher_. Someone Stiles can probably never actually date. Scott kicks him to make him shut up. It’s effective. He puts his phone away.

***

 “God, Stiles…”

 Stiles arches. “Yeah...”

 “No, wait, we’ve gotta… _nnng_.”

 “Fuck, Derek, quiet.” Stiles laughs in his ear, going for his mouth but missing and placing a sloppy kiss onto his jaw. Derek sighs and buries his face in Stiles’ neck. Stiles is totally laid out on his desk, door locked in case someone—Harris—decides to try and barge in. Not that he’s too worried about it right now. But he’ll become worried if Derek keeps making as much noise as he is.

 Derek bites into his shoulder, moaning. He’s rutting between Stiles’ legs, and even though they’re both clothed—maybe _because_ they’re clothed—it’s fucking filthy. Stiles twists one leg around Derek’s hips and arches up. “Wait, wait…” Stiles pants, claws at Derek’s back to get him to ease up. “Can’t come in these, fuck. How gross would that be?”

 Derek huffs a laugh, hot breath flashing over Stiles’ neck. “Gross.” he admits. “Fuck, I can’t do this.” Stiles whines when Derek moves away. Derek starts pacing. “I can’t keep my hands off of you.” Stiles laughs, because it’s so far from what he expected. Derek glares at him, but keeps pacing. “I’m serious, stop that.”

 Stiles sits up on his elbows, legs splayed wide and suggestively. “But, Mr. Hale, I’m doing nothing wrong.” Stiles says sweetly with a grin than is anything but.

 Derek stops, groans and stares because he can’t touch but he _wants_ to touch and Stiles wants him to, too. Wants him to get back over here and kiss him soft and slow until he’s not steel-hard in his jeans. Stiles sits up and reaches out for him. He either pulls off the ‘I promise not to jump you’ look or Derek has thrown caution to the wind again, because he takes his hand and let’s Stiles pull him close. He tips his head up, but Derek doesn’t kiss him. It’s fine, though. Stiles can wait. “Stop looking so beaten up.” he teases, hooking his ankles around Derek’s knees. “You don’t have to keep your hands off me.”

 “It’s not just this, Stiles, it’s the little things, too. I want to hold your hand and sit next to you in Starbucks and take you on a _date_.”

 Stiles leans up and bumps their noses. It seems to be a calming gesture for them, a way to assure the other they were serious when they said it was okay. “I graduate in seven months.” Stiles offers helpfully. “We could go on a Starbucks date and hold hands the whole time.”

 Derek snorts, but looks affectionate. “Doesn’t it bother you, though? Not being able to tell anyone?”

 “Just my dad.” Stiles shrugs, tugs Derek’s shirt the rest of the way out of his pants because he hates it when Derek’s all tucked in and neat. “I tell Scott that I’m just casually seeing a guy in Sacramento, and he tells Allison, and Allison tells Lydia—who’s a bit harder to convince, but I mean she saw him flirting with me so—”

 “Wait, there’s _actually_ a guy in Sacramento?”

 Stiles rolls his eyes. “There’s a few, Derek.”

 “You know what I mean.” Derek’s frowning now, distinctly unhappy. Stiles sits back a little to smirk at it.

 “I met a guy the day Laura bombarded me in Starbucks. He flirted with me and then ran off when Lydia said we were in high school. I don’t even know his name, but for Scott, Allison, and Lydia, he’s you and you’re him.”

 Derek’s frown turns into something more confused than upset. “That’s a lot to keep up with Stiles.”

 “Or I could tell them I want to bang you and we could just get it out of the way.” Stiles suggests. “I’ll just bust my ass again and admit it to the class in a slightly concussed way.”

 Derek just rolls his eyes now, moving Stiles closer to him. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

 “No, really! It could work! It’s not like the class isn’t aware I want to rub my face on your face.”

 “You’re an _adult_ , Stiles.” he sighs, but it’s fond.

 Stiles leans up and pecks his mouth with a loud _smack_. “An adult who’s going to go swim.”

 “You can’t keep skipping out of here for pool practice.” Derek warns, fingers tracing contradictorily soft circles onto his thighs.

 Stiles smiles brightly. “When I fall behind in work, _then_ you can yell at me about using my free period as a free period. Besides,” He takes one of Derek’s hands and presses it up underneath his shirt. “Got to keep these well maintained, you know?”

 Derek’s nails scrape a little when he draws back. His eyes are getting dark again. Stiles is sorely tempted so say fuck it and totally hump Derek until he jizzes in his appallingly expensive pants. But Derek’s moving away again, nodding to the door and Stiles takes his leave like a man. A man with a hard-on.

 Once he gets into the pool, though, that kind of goes away _immediately_. Because the water is cold and Stiles is competitive as _fuck_. The water also helps clear his head, which is a nice change. He’s on his third set of 100 meter breaststrokes when someone throws something at him. He comes up with a frown and pulls his goggles off. It’s Lydia, looking curiously blank. “Yes?”

 “Thought you were taking a biology class.”

 “I’m ahead.” Stiles answers.

 “Are you sleeping with Hale?”

 Stiles feels himself dip for a moment before he comes back up. “No.” he answers, honestly. He’s _not_. He wants to, but he’s not.

 She flashes him his phone.

He swallows way too much pool water. “Lydia…”

 “Just tell me the truth.”

 “We aren’t…sleeping together.” Stiles says carefully. He sighs and swims to the edge of the pool to pull himself out. “It’s complicated.”

 “What could you _possibly_ be thinking?”

 “A lot of things. Mostly how I’m old enough to date him.”

 “But you’re his _student._ He’s taking advantage by using authority.”

 “He’s not!” Stiles immediately argues.

 “But that’s how everyone’s going to see it.”

 Stiles feels himself go a little cold. “Lyds, you…you don’t understand—”

 “I’m scared for you.” she blurts, letting her arm drop to her side. Her expression, something Stiles first read as blank, isn’t blank at all. There’s a raw fear in her eyes, something Stiles has seen only a handful of times in their lives. “I’m scared you’re going to get hurt.”

 “Derek wouldn’t hurt me.”

 “Not just by Derek, Stiles. He—you two, you’re good together. If it were any other place…any other situation you two could be amazing. But they’re going to come for you, Stiles. They’re going to come for you and they’re going to come for him.”

 Stiles swallows, choosing to ignore the dread welling up in his stomach. “You won’t tell, will you, Lyds?”

 Her face softens and she shakes her head. “Of course not. But if you aren’t careful,” she flashes his phone “I won’t have to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reached 300 followers on tumblr, so to celebrate I opened up my fic folders to the internet. The folder chosen was Sterek, and now there's a [new poll](http://vote.pollcode.com/56787896) to decide which story to publish based on the titles!  
> And hey, if you wanna follow me on [tumblr](http://notthepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com/) I won't say no ;)


	7. And Suddenly Backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek go away for a weekend. It turns out to be the best idea Stiles may have ever had

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IMPORTANT NOTES**  
>  This chapter has mentions of self harm and mentions of Kate (a warning in itself)  
> There's also a mention of Stiles hating ambulances, which is something that was in the chapter with Greenburg and his bullshit minions. If you skipped that, you might be confused, but the gist is that Derek didn't call an ambulance because Stiles just about choked him out when he tried.

 Stiles calls Derek that Friday night, blurting the moment the line connects “You and I are going on a date.”

 Derek’s quiet for a moment before he snorts. “Yeah, okay. I’ll just come pick you up at your father’s house, who, you know, happens to be the sheriff. No big deal.”

 “He’s working and you will be doing that. And then you and I are going down the coast and you are going to fuck me.”

 There’s radio silence on the other line. Stiles keeps prodding at the noodles he’s cooking and waits patiently. “Did you just…” Derek starts, sounding faint.

 “Yes.”

 A long, long moment of silence and then Derek chokes out “ _Stiles_.”

 “Don’t sound so scandalized, oh my god.” he laughs. “It’s sex between consenting adults, not robbing a damn bank.”

 “Don’t act like this isn’t a big deal, Stiles. God, this is…this is a huge step, you know?”

 “Yeah, well. Long legs. Legs that would feel awfully nice wrapped around your waist when you’re—”

 “ _Stop_.” Derek moans.

 Stiles grins. “Is that a yes?”

 Derek sighs, shaky and resigned. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

 Stiles smile brightens. “Good. Pick me up in eight hours.”

 “Eight hours? That’s four in the morning.”

 “Yep.”

 Derek sighs again. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

 “I know.” Stiles laughs. “I’ll see you then.”

 Stiles hangs up _vibrating_ with the need to get out of Beacon Hills. He’s cleared it with his dad, said he was going away for the weekend to see his boyfriend that apparently _everyone_ knew about without actually knowing about it. Lydia had been on his case—subtly, of course—for the last few days. Always making sure he was sure, always texting him and reminding him to _be_ _careful_. He hates it. He hates having to look over his shoulder all the time. Just the thought of being with Derek without it makes him so beyond giddy it’s bordering on ridiculous.

 He manages to get a few hours of sleep before his alarm goes off at three. He takes a _very_ thorough shower and texts his dad that he’s leaving. The lie was that Derek had been up north and was driving through on his way back to Sacramento and was taking a few days to take Stiles off into the wilderness. His dad had bought it with a tinge of suspicion, but Stiles will take dubious glances if it means a weekend free of being scared of getting caught.

 Derek pulls up in a Camaro that Stiles knows he’s definitely going to be doing some sort of sexual acts in before the weekend is over. He throws his stuff in the trunk Derek opens and then slides into the passenger’s seat. “We’re having sex in this car, as well.”

 Derek snorts, shifts and hits the gas hard enough that Stiles feels the kick. He purrs with the engine, sinks into the seat. “I’m leaving you for your car.” Stiles decides.

 “We’re kind of a package deal.”

 Stiles grins at him slyly. “Even better.”

 “Where are we going?”

 “There’s a place.” Stiles says simply. “A place where phones don’t work and people don’t exist and we can hold hands and drink coffee and be _alone_.”

 Derek makes a pleased noise, reaches over to run his hand across Stiles’ thigh. “That sounds perfect.”

 “There is a slight problem.” he admits. “There’s sort of…a lot of bugs. A _lot_ of bugs.”

 Derek smirks. “I’m not afraid of bugs.”

 Stiles narrows his eyes. “Are you implying _I_ am?”

 “Are you?”

 “Of course not! I was just…warning you.”

 “Right.”

 “Shut up.”

 “Okay.”

 “I’m _serious_.”

 “Me, too.”

 Stiles shoves his hand away, pouts while Derek grins. It’s not true pouting. He’s not hurt. This is actually kind of _perfect_. He reaches over and takes Derek’s hand again, doesn’t look at him but feels his fingers squeeze. “It’s towards the coast.” Stiles tells him sleepily.

 “North or south?”

 “Mm…south.” Stiles yawns and leans against the window, eyes closing. “Just past Bridgeville.”

 “You’re the one with directions. You can’t just sleep.”

 “I’ve got a few hours.” Stiles argues.

 Derek doesn’t answer. He just holds his hand. Stiles takes that as ascent and drifts off, only to have Derek wake him up by stopping. Stiles twists in his seat, mumbling something about Derek closing the windows, only to open his eyes and see Derek leaning against the hood of his car. Stiles climbs out and joins him, nudging his shoulder. “Okay?”

 “Yeah, just…looking.” Derek says. He seems okay, calm and relaxed. He looks at Stiles and grins. “It’s nice out here.”

 “Yeah.” Stiles agrees, breathing in. It smells like trees and fresh air and a hint of fall.

 “We just passed Bridgeville, but I didn’t want to wake you up quite yet.”

 “Haven’t you ever slept in the car?” Stiles snorts, letting his head hit Derek’s shoulder. He turns into it and says “You always wake up when the car stops.”

 Derek’s quiet for a long moment, quiet enough Stiles looks up at him. He just pulls Stiles back down, kisses the top of his head. “I just like this.” he admits. “Being out in the open with you. About you.”

 Stiles leans up and kisses behind his ear. “Ditto. Now, come on, we’re not that far. An hour, tops.”

 They climb back into the car and Derek doesn’t stop touching. Holding his hand, touching his hair, his face, his thigh. He doesn’t stop looking at him either. Derek looks at Stiles all the time but now it’s more adoring. Derek tries to keep himself closed off in class, tries to not even acknowledge Stiles unless he has to. It’s a nice change of pace.

 Stiles gives directions when he’s supposed to, grins when they pass the park sign. Derek stops at the park office and Stiles hops out before Derek can say anything to pay the fee. Derek seems to be thinking pretty hard about where they are when Stiles climbs back into the car, so Stiles cuts in with “We don’t need a tent, calm down.”

 Derek rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny freaking out about it. Like he could. Stiles turns his palm up and kisses his wrist. Derek turns and stares at him long enough that Stiles has to remind him to look at the road before he runs them off of it. Derek pulls up to the cabin with a suspicious look. Stiles leaps out and jumps around the car. “Well?”

 “You’re awfully excited for someone who doesn’t like bugs.”

 “I’m _fine with bugs_.” Stiles snaps.

 Derek just slings an arm over his shoulder with a laugh and leads him into the cabin.

 Stiles breathes deep as they cross the threshold. He slides out from under Derek’s reach and races to the bunk beds he and Derek _definitely_ won’t be using, laying on the filthy, thin mattress to squint up at the boards.

 “You’re going to get bitten by something.” Derek tells him from the doorway.

 “Worth it.” Stiles declares, finding what he’s looking for. He pokes a finger at it proudly. “Scott and I carved our names here when we were thirteen. Stole my dad’s knife and everything. Almost cut off Scott’s finger.”

 Derek’s suddenly shoving him over, into the wall. Stiles scoots and Derek joins him. There is _no_ room for them on this bed, but Stiles ignores that and points to their names proudly. The ‘S’ in Scott’s name is blocky, like the Superman one, while Stiles’ has a curve to it. That’s how he’d nearly sliced Scott’s finger off in the first palce, trying to curve it just right. “It was, like, two in the morning and we couldn’t sleep because there were owls or something. Or maybe we were just excited. So I stole my dad’s pocket knife and crawled into bed with Scott to carve it in.” Stiles explains. “My dad was _pissed_. He almost took us home, but in the end we convinced him we were sorry.”

 “You weren’t.”

 “Of course not.” Stiles beams.

 “So this place means something to you.” Derek guesses.

 “Well…yeah.” he admits. “My mom and dad and I used to come here a lot when I was a kid.” He can’t get much more than that out, though. The thought makes him sad, the memory of his mom telling campfire stories and teaching him out to make the perfect s’more. He shrugs and clears his throat. “And then it was Scott and Dad and I for awhile. Haven’t been out here for years, though.”

 Derek doesn’t ask about the change. Doesn’t seem to need to. He just climbs off the bed and pulls Stiles with him, brushing dust and who knows what else off of him. “I’m assuming there’s another bed?”

 “There is, but it’s kind of shit, so I brought like four sleeping bags and a shit-ton of blankets. I kind of thought living room camp out?”

 “I’m okay with that.”

 Stiles beams, leans up and kisses him just to do it. “You’re so good to me.” he coos.

 Derek swats his ass when Stiles turns towards the door. Stiles swats back at his hands with half a frown. They get all the things piled into the living room and Stiles uses the old broom in the closet to sweep out most of the dirt and dead bugs before they set out everything.

 By the time their ‘bed’ is done, Stiles just wants to lay in it forever. They’d pulled open and laid out all four sleeping bags on top of each other and followed it with Stiles’ thickest blanket. Stiles crawls onto it and Derek throws the rest of the blankets over him. “Bad idea,” he calls through the fabrics. “Now you’ll never get me out.”

 Derek suddenly appears beside him, equally as buried. “Maybe I don’t want to get you out.”

 “Mm, kinky.”

 Derek snorts and bumps their noses. “This is good.” he says after a moment. “This is…really good.”

 “Agreed.” Stiles sighs, moving closer just to feel the heat of Derek. Just to touch him in some way that isn’t frantic and filled with caution. He presses himself against Derek and tangles their legs together, so they’re touching from head to toe. It’s perfect. “Kind of want to, you know…never leave.”

 “When do we _have_ to leave?”

 “Sunday night. Should probably be back by ten so I can get a good night’s sleep. My first period teacher is kind of a dick.”

 Derek snorts. “Oh, yeah?”

 “Yeah. But he’s, like, _really_ hot so I can’t be too mad about it.”

 Derek shifts over him, looks down and just traces lines with his eyes. “Well, I’ve got a student in my first period who’s an obnoxious brat.”

 Stiles laughs, stretches out beneath Derek and thinks he’d really like to take a nap with him. Here, like this. “Sounds awful.”

 “It is. But he’s sort of stupidly attractive, so.”

 “Smooth.”

 Derek just leans forward to kiss him.

***

 Stiles wakes up the next morning to a shutter clicking. He mumbles something and rolls over, but it doesn’t go away, so he peeks out. Derek’s got a stupidly expensive camera and has it aimed right at Stiles. Stiles flips him off and Derek snaps another photo. “What are you doing?” Stiles rasps, turning over and stretching his stiff muscles. He glares when he hears the shutter go off.

 “Remembering you like this.” Derek says simply.

 “You’re being creepy.” Stiles argues, but he doesn’t really mean it. Derek probably realizes this, or really doesn’t care, because he takes another photo.

 “You can take pictures of me, too.” Derek promises, but he doesn’t seem willing to give up the camera any time soon.

 Stiles bites his lip and grins, because it’s early but he’s awake now and Derek looks so happy. “Gonna save these for later?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

 Derek laughs, low but promising. “Maybe.”

 “Then, maybe I should…” Stiles kicks down the sheets, reveals his boxers and the hickey Derek had left on his stomach last night. “Give you something to work with.” he finishes.

 Derek’s finger hesitates only for a minute before it’s clicking again. “God, you’re beautiful.” he breathes.

 Stiles smiles and turns his face into the pillow. He feels playful and soft and doesn’t even frown when Derek keeps taking pictures. He definitely doesn’t frown when Derek starts kissing his neck, though he’s a little unnerved by the heavy camera hanging dangerously above them, clicking wildly. Derek seems to know what he’s doing though.

 Suddenly, Stiles jerks. Derek’s _bit_ him, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to mark where anyone can see and Stiles gapes at him for a solid minute. A minute in which Derek takes about a hundred thousand pictures of him. Stiles snatches the camera and turns it on him. In the first few, he’s blurry. In the next he’s got a look of half shock, half amusement. The viewfinder gets abruptly crowded by Derek’s clavicle and they’re kissing but Stiles can’t stop pressing the button so there’s a hundred photos of one spot on Derek’s throat.

 Derek finally chucks the camera out of the way,               drawing a panicked squawk from Stiles because that camera was probably worth more than him. Derek makes it onto their gigantic makeshift bed, though, so Stiles turns back to the task at hand of getting Derek’s underwear off.

 “Slow down.” Derek laughs, but it’s breathless and he’s not following his own advice, pulling Stiles’ arms above his head and wedging a thigh between his legs.

 “You slow down.” Stiles says petulantly, which lands him a firm nip to his bottom lip and a wonderful amount of friction to the hard on he’s forming. “Never mind,” he groans. “I lied. Don’t slow down. Speed up. I want a traffic ticket out of this.”

 Derek snorts, drags his nails down Stiles arm and torso to scratch at the hair on his stomach. “I was gonna do this right.” Derek laments, but he doesn’t look about ready to change his mind. “Take you to dinner, woo you properly…”

 “You wore a sweater vest Tuesday. I was wooed.” Stiles promises impatiently.

 “I’m serious, Stiles.” Derek huffs.

 Stiles forces his hands free and cups Derek’s face, forcing him to stay focused on him. “I’m wooed, you asshole. You’ve pretty much saved my life more than once. Get over yourself already.”

 Derek grunts, leans forward to kiss him. It’s less heated, though. More like he just wants to kiss than anything. Stiles is pretty okay with that plan. He sighs, slides his hands back around to Derek’s neck, to the hairs there that Stiles has been feeling grow. He tugs a little and Derek sighs into his mouth. “Wanna…” he mumbles, pressing the words against Stiles lips. “Mm, I wanna be inside you.”

 “Yeah,” Stiles agrees, tugs a little harder on his hair. “Yeah, c’mon.”

 Derek slides down his body slowly, tugging blankets off with him. Stiles shivers because it’s fall, after all, and it’s probably only like nine in the morning. He can see the dew catching on the old window screens. Not that’s he’s paying too much attention to it, because Derek is running his mouth over Stiles’ abdomen like it’s some sort of ice cream cone. Stiles reaches down and scratches as his scalp, catches is nails on his neck and undulates a little.

 Derek nips lightly on Stiles’ hipbone, which he’s always thought stuck out a little too much. Derek has assured him more than once it doesn’t, not always with words. Today seems to be one of those days, because he’s biting more and more tiny, pinch sized marks into the skin. Etching some kind of constellation only he knows the design to.

 Stiles let’s his eyes drift shut, focuses on breathing and the feeling of teeth. Then there’s fingers edging inside the leg of his boxers, brushing higher on his bare thigh than Derek’s hand has ever been. Stiles hasn’t even had mutual orgasms with him yet. It’s just been frantic groping in the classroom. This is nicer than that, _way_ nicer. Because Derek’s soft with him. He’s slow, doesn’t seem hurried, and Stiles is in much the same condition. He just wants to take his time with this, to etch it into his memory.

 That thought gives him the idea of reaching for the camera. He clicks the button just as Derek looks up at him from under his eyelashes, mouth open over his appendectomy scar and tongue just visible. Stiles hums and takes another where Derek’s not even looking at him when he kisses the spot.

 “When’d you get this?” Derek asks roughly. Stiles takes another picture.

 “I was eleven. Appendix.” he says. “Dad thought it was the flu until I woke up in the middle of the night screaming because I thought I’d been shot.”

 Derek hums and noses over it, moving slightly higher to another scar, lighter but visible. Thicker than the other one. “This one?”

 “Wood burning stove when I was…seven?” Stiles guesses, clicking the shutter. “Got knocked into it by Scott.”

 Derek snorts and moves lower again, then lower still until he’s kissing Stiles’ knees. Stiles never thought he’d be into someone kissing his knees, but there’s something comfortable about it. He trusts Derek, and Derek’s just trying to know his body. His tongue dips behind his leg and Stiles giggles a little breathlessly. “Ticklish?”

 “Just a little.” Stiles says. Derek does it again to test the theory and Stiles sighs instead of laughs. He raises the camera and snaps Derek’s face hidden in his thigh. He was definitely keeping all of these. Derek licks up slowly, pushing up the boxers until they were creased at the junction of hip and leg. Stiles swallows, because Derek’s going to see now. He has to.

 He does. He looks at the scars for a long moment before pressing little kisses to them, too, breathing “Stiles,” like it breaks his heart.

 Stiles swallows thickly. “It, um…my mom.” he gets out. “She died. When I was ten, and it was…” Stiles clears his throat and looks at the ceiling. “It was an accident at first. I was having a panic attack, and I just…bit myself. It pulled me out of it. The pain did. I felt terrible about it but not as bad as being stuck in a loop of thinking I could’ve done something before she…” Stiles trails off. Derek’s just breathing against him now, listening. Absorbing.

 He looks down and Derek’s staring at him. Waiting for him to continue, if he wants to. He does. “I knew this kid who did it. I never understood why, but whenever I got scared, I just…” He shifts his eyes to the lines on his leg. So many of them, all permanently buried into his skin.  “I don’t regret it.” Stiles tells him. “I won’t do it again, but I don’t regret it. My dad found out when I was fifteen and we had a serious talk about everything. Everything and anything. And…it’s why I don’t like ambulances. My mom and this and…they freak me out.”

 Derek lowers his eyes to the scars, then kisses his leg again. “Other leg, too?”

 “Yeah.”

 Derek turns and pushes his boxers up there, too, kisses the lines there just as softly. Then sits up and tugs Stiles with him.

 Stiles goes easily, pliant and trusting. Derek keeps their fingers linked together, though he twists them to keep them moving. “I was fifteen.” he starts. “I was cocky, one of the best basketball players in the school, and I met a girl. She hated me at first and then she…” Derek clears his throat, shakes his head. “Her name was Paige. We were together for almost a year and we got into a stupid fight about something...Jesus, I can’t even remember what anymore. Anyway, she, uh…she walked home instead of letting me give her a ride. She was hit and they didn’t even stop. I found her when I got my head out of my ass three hours later and went to apologize.”

 Stiles squeezes his fingers. “Derek, you don’t have to—”

 “No, it’s…I want to.” Derek insists, eyes finally locking onto his. “I was in a bad place for a long time. And it drove a wedge between me and most of my family. And then I met Kate, who was older and made me feel brave again. Made me push my limits. She made me do a lot of things, some I didn’t really want to do. In the end she attacked my sister for trying to protect me, because I’d told her that I felt scared. She nearly killed her. After that was Jen, and compared to everyone else, her leaving me for her best friend is pretty tame in comparison.”

 Stiles clings to Derek’s hands, waits for him to look up again. Before he can say anything, Derek keeps going “I moved to Sacramento because Laura was there. Because Jennifer wasn’t and Kate wasn’t and Paige wasn’t. I moved to California because there was only one person I wanted to be with and she was my sister, so I knew she wouldn’t hurt me. And I…I really thought, when I got the job in Beacon Hills, that I was done with relationships. With wanting them. With wanting another person, but Stiles…” he pulls his hands up, kissing them and sighs heavily. Like everything just weighs so much. “Stiles, I _want_ you.”

 “Okay.” Stiles nods.

 “I want you, and I want to do this right. I want you to be happy with me.”

 Stiles moves forward, maneuvers them so he can straddle Derek’s lap. He nods as he does it. “Okay.”

 Derek breaks the distance between him, kisses him desperately. He’s hurting. Stiles can feel it in the way he’s trying to be as close to Stiles as is possible. Stiles kisses him back, but it’s slower. Reassuring to the panic Derek is putting off. Derek pulls back and breathes for a moment before whispering “I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t be.”

 “I am. I shouldn’t have…I didn’t mean to just unload all of that on you.”

 “Derek,” Stiles murmurs, tips his chin up so he’ll look at him. He bumps their noses together. Derek immediately relaxes, wraps his arms around Stiles and pulls him in tight. Stiles lets him just bury his face in his shoulder, even pulls him closer with his hands on the back of his head. Derek doesn’t cry, but he does some deep breaths that feel worse to Stiles. Because he recognizes them. When you’re too broken to actually cry. Too frustrated. “I’m sorry.” he mumbles. “That this isn’t…that I’m still in high school and—”

 “Stiles,” Derek laughs, kissing his shoulder. “Oh, Stiles, no. _I’m_ sorry. God, I’m you’re _teacher._ I’m older than you by almost ten years and I’m so selfish to want you so much.”

 “Stop that.” Stiles huffs, nuzzles into Derek’s hair. “We’re just idiots. Okay?”

 Derek chuckles again, sagging a little when he relaxes. “Yeah, okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you thought you were going to get sex, didn't you? *evil laughter*  
> No but seriously, next chapter...so much sex. Just... _sex._  
> [Tumblr](http://notthepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com/)  
>  And hey! For all you guys who voted for which Sterek story to publish, you should know that "Sub Stiles" won out! So be expecting some Sub Stiles goodness from me...


	8. And Suddenly Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets what he wants out of their weekend alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry this chapter is late. Luckily, it's only by a day, because I had to get up at 4am this morning so I had time to finish going through it. Obviously, because this was read-through at 4am, you're likely to find some typos. EITHER WAY, I got nothing but sweet words and patience, and that shall be rewarded. Here's 2,685 words of porn.

 “You go.” Stiles mutters around his cereal.

 Derek snorts and takes another bite from the same bowl. “Fine, truth or dare?”

 “Truth.” Stiles says bravely.

 “Ever been with a guy before?”

 Stiles shakes his head. “No. Truth or dare?”

 “Truth.”

 “Okay. You?”

 “A couple times, between Kate and Jen.” Derek shrugs. “Truth or dare?”

 “Dare.”

 Derek smiles. “Come here.”

 Stiles doesn’t hesitate, climbing over the blankets and carefully balancing the bowl as he does before flopping down into Derek’s lap. He takes an innocent bite of cereal. “Truth or dare?”

 “Truth.”

 “First impression?”

 “Overdramatic spazz with coordination problems.”

 Stiles snorts. “Well, you weren’t wrong.”

 Derek hums, mouthing at his ear. “Truth or dare?”

 “Truth.”

 “Have you ever jerked off thinking about me?”

 Stiles blushes, but he smiles. “Yes.”

 Derek takes a shaky breath, nodding. “Did you—”

 “One question at a time.” Stiles reminds him teasingly, pinching his thigh. Derek blushes deeper red but it fades after a moment. “Truth or dare?”

 “Dare.”

 “Hmm…” Stiles looks him over, turns his head in different directions. “Let me leave a hickey on your neck that people can see.” he decides recklessly.

 Derek does pause, seems uncertain, but then he nods. Stiles raises his eyebrows. He’d really expected Derek to chicken. Instead, Stiles sits up and kisses him, slow and sure, and then turns and trails his lips over his neck carefully. Stiles has only left a hickey on himself before—and oh, how _that_ had been fun to explain to his father—but he’s always been partial to the idea. He picks a spot just under Derek’s jaw, above any collar short of a turtle neck and entirely visible. He bites, pinches lightly, and then sucks the skin into his mouth. Derek catches his hips and tugs him close, but Stiles just bites one more time and pulls away.

 The skin’s already red, and it’s going to bruise beautifully. Stiles nips at it before sitting back again. Derek doesn’t let go of his hand this time. “Your turn.”

 “Truth or dare.”

 “Truth.”

 “Why are you into me?”

 Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Well, you’re pretty. So that helps.” Derek blushes. Stiles squeezes his fingers. “You’re also kind of _really_ funny in a weird, dry sort of way. And smart. Really smart. And you…” Stiles pauses, clears his throat and nods. “You appreciate me for me. Which is…not really something a lot of people do.”

 Derek brings up his hand and kisses it. Stiles smiles at him, and Derek smiles back. “Your turn.”

 Stiles laughs, turning Derek’s hand around in his. “Truth or dare?”

 “Truth.”

 “Do you…do you think…after graduation…” he trails off, hoping he gets the question across.

 Derek stares at him for a long moment. “After graduation…” he prompts.

 “Well, what do you—what do you think will happen?”

 Derek hums, brushing his fingers along Stiles’ jaw line. “I think…you’ll get into a great school. Somewhere you want to be at, somewhere…somewhere big enough for you.”

 “I mean about us, Derek.”

 Derek meets his eyes then. Whatever he sees in them must mean something, because Derek sets aside the cereal bowl and rolls Stiles onto his back, spreads his hands across Stiles’ chest. “Us…” he muses. “I imagine, after graduation, that I’m going to take you on a date. A real, actual date.”

 Stiles gives a shaky grin. “Yeah?”

 “Mmhmm. And I’m going to hold your hand. A _lot_.”

 “Oo, scandalous.”

 “And I’m going to kiss you even more.”

 “Don’t have to wait for that.” Stiles mumbles, leaning up. Derek laughs into his mouth, kisses him slow and open. Stiles reaches up and tugs on his hair until Derek’s laughing again, pulling away with little love bites. “Where are you going?” Stiles whines.

 “Just getting a look.” Derek presses a kiss to his temple. “I like looking at you.”

 “I thought that was the skinny jeans.”

 “Those didn’t hurt.” he chuckles, hand slipping around to cup his butt. “You kind of have an addicting ass.”

 Stiles arches into it and grins. “Like it?”

 “I do.” Derek agrees.

 “You know, if you asked nicely…” Stiles mumbles, wriggling. “Maybe I’d let you have it.”

 Derek’s breath catches and his fingers squeeze. “Stiles…”

 “It’s your turn.”

 “What?”

 “It’s your turn to ask ‘truth or dare.’”

 Derek blinks for a moment and lets out a long suffering sigh. “Okay. Truth or dare.”

 “Dare.”

 Derek laughs, low and dangerous. “Turn over.”

 Stiles slowly maneuvers so Derek has him pinned in on his stomach. “Is this it?” he asks shakily. “This is my dare?”

 “Mmhmm.” Derek grazes his teeth across Stiles’ shoulder.

 Stiles gives a small moan, nodding. “O-okay. Truth…truth or dare?”

 Derek hums against his neck. “Truth.”

 “Do you—do you want to do this?”

 Derek’s quiet for a moment, causing panic to well up inside him. He twists his head to catch Derek’s eyes, moans when Derek presses a small kiss to the corner of his mouth and spreads his hot hands across his hips. “I absolutely want to do this.” Derek promises him lowly, dragging his teeth up to his ear. “Truth or dare?”

 “Dare.” Stiles breathes.

 His underwear comes off slow, drags down over his hips and the swell of his ass. Stiles barely lifts his hips to help, and then Derek’s palming flesh. Stiles gasps, and Derek’s hands move. Stiles whimpers, shaking his head. “Don’t.”

 “What is it? What’s wrong?”

 “Don’t stop.” Stiles breathes, twisting until he’s on his back.

 Derek groans, kissing him sloppily, desperately. He can feel the length of him resting against his thigh, getting hot and hard. Stiles cants his hips upwards, desperate for friction. For _Derek_. But there’s still a layer of fabric, and Stiles clutches at it, desperate to get rid of it.

 “Wait, hey, wait…we have to. Have to—we have to talk about this.” Derek pants, still shimmying free of his underwear.

 “Why?” Stiles pants wetly into Derek’s collar.

 Derek laughs, but it’s shaky. Like he’s on the verge of snapping or something. “Because that’s what people are supposed to do. They’re supposed to talk about sex before they have it.”

 “What are we supposed to talk about?” Stiles curls one leg around Derek, working his hips up to feel the hard length of Derek’s cock.

 “Fuck, I don’t know. STDs and—and who’s topping. Whose condoms to use, what sort of limits we have.”

 “I don’t have any, mine because their closer, and if you reach one I’ll let you know.” Stiles kisses him. “And I’d prefer if you’d top, please.”

 Derek moans brokenly against his lips. “Stiles, god…”

 Stiles gets tired of waiting and wraps his fingers around both of them, thumbing at their slits to gather the precome gathered there. Derek moans again, shuddering. “Front pocket, lube.” Stiles orders softly, nipping at Derek’s mouth.

 Derek scrambles for it, hands it off to Stiles with shaky fingers. Stiles pulls away long enough to warm some on his hand and then he’s tugging at them both again. The hot, slick friction startles him into bucking against Derek, which in turn startles Derek into biting Stiles’ chin. Stiles laughs, lets it taper off into a heavy sigh and leans his head back. “Fuck, this feels good.”

 “Yeah,” Derek agrees, nodding furiously. “Yeah, god…”

 Stiles knows Derek’s watching the way his hand is curled around both of them. The way they move and fit together. Studying it, probably. But as much as he’d like to see it, too, he can’t bring himself to focus on more than the hot feel of Derek’s cock against his own. Stiles turns his head to bite at the shell of Derek’s ear playfully. “You wanna come on me, Mr. Hale?” he breathes. “Cover me in it? In come? _Your_ come?”

 The noise that comes out of Derek is gut-wrenching. Stiles actually pauses because it shakes him up, makes his stomach churn in a not-entirely-unpleasant-but-very-intense way. Derek lifts his head and slams their mouths together, taking Stiles’ hand in his to keep up the vicious movements. Stiles whimpers, squirming and panting and letting out halves of words that would probably come out pleas.

 “God, Stiles, you look so good. So fucking good like this.”

 Stiles moans, hand tightening on them both. “I’m—I’m—”

 “Yeah.” Derek pants, nodding. “Yeah, come on. Come on, Stiles. Come for me, baby.”

 Stiles trembles, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip until Derek pulls it free with his own teeth. Stiles wriggles his hand free to clutch at Derek’s hair, pulling him in for a desperate, panting kiss until suddenly he’s rocking up and coming, whimpering into Derek’s mouth.

 Derek hisses a few words of encouragement, hand hot and firm as he rips the orgasm out of Stiles like a bullet. Stiles has to push him away after he crashes down, panting and weak and _way_ too oversensitive. Derek pulls away nodding but still working over his own erection harshly.

 Stiles nods back, grabbing at Derek’s hair and jaw. “Do it. Come on. Come, come on me, for me. Derek, please, come on.”

 Derek turns and bites into his wrist as he sobs out, spilling hot on Stiles’ stomach and softening erection. Stiles nods again, pulling him close and kissing him. Derek sighs into him, spreads his hand through the mess on Stiles’ stomach. Stiles hums, biting softly at the bruised skin of his lip. “You bit me.”

 “Mm.” Derek agrees, biting back. “Can keep biting you, if you want.”

 “You charmer.” Stiles laughs, glancing down between them and wincing. “God, that is gross.”

 Derek smears his hand further up Stiles’ chest. “I like it.”

 “Weirdo.”

 “Think so?”

 “Yeah.” Stiles turns to press a kiss to his cheek. “S’okay, though. I like you. Weirdo and all.”

***

 “Wake up.”

 Derek makes a dissatisfied noise and does not wake up. Stiles doesn’t blame him, really. The sun isn’t even up yet, and if Stiles hadn’t gotten hot, he’d probably still be asleep. As it is, he’s pealed the covers off of both him and Derek and is slowly kissing his way down his body. He pauses near his belly button, glancing up. “C’mon, sleepy head. Wake up.”

 “No.” Derek grunts.

 Stiles smirks, continuing the line of kisses down. “As a responsible adult once told me, I’m supposed to talk about sex before I have it. I can’t do that if the person I want to have sex with is asleep, now can I?”

 Derek grunts again, throwing an arm over his eyes. Stiles hums and moves down to the semi Derek’s sporting, pressing a soft kiss to the tip. Derek makes a tiny noise, hips drawing up. Stiles can’t help but smile before delicately rolling the foreskin down.

 This seems to attract his attention at least. Derek makes an inquisitive noise, lifting himself up on an elbow. “Stiles?”

 “Morning.” he hums, mouthing across his shaft. “Sleep well?”

 “What time is it?”

 “Early.” Stiles admits. “But blowjobs, am I right?”

 Derek snorts, flopping back into the pillows.

 Stiles licks up the shaft and suckles at the tip, using the spit so he can coax more blood into Derek’s cock. It’s a sweet, slow process, something Stiles never imagined when he pictured being with another person but something he immediately loves. Derek’s letting out these soft, not-quite-groans and keeps petting his hair like he’s something precious. Something desired.

 “Hey,” Derek sighs, tugging. Stiles raises his eyes but keeps his mouth locked around the head of his cock. “Hey, come here.”

 He slips off, sighing as if Derek’s just asked him to run a mile. But he goes, shimmying up Derek’s body to be kissed adoringly. Stiles breaks the kiss, twisting to mouth across Derek’s palm, getting it sufficiently wet before moving it between his own legs. “Give a little, get a little?” he suggests hopefully.

 Derek smirks, rolling his eyes, but he curls his fingers around Stiles’ already fairly-filled cock and strokes. The look on his face goes from adoring amusement to one of near wonder. “Jesus, you’re this hard just from sucking me off?”

 “Shut up.” Stiles mutters, burying his face into Derek’s neck.

 “God, you’re amazing.”

 Stiles sighs, rocking his hips forward into Derek’s. “God…can you…can you finger me? Please?”

 Derek groans, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. On your stomach. Gotta…”

 Stiles climbs off and settles onto his stomach, watching Derek free the lube from the sheets with a snort that turns into an affectionate smile when Derek pinches his thigh. Derek gets between his legs and sucks a mark into Stiles’ ass before he squirms away. “Couldn’t help it.” he mumbles, nipping at it before pressing one slick finger into him.

 Stiles gasps, hips arching back. “God, yeah, that’s—god…”

 “Am I the first?” Derek wonders softly, twisting his finger until it just grazes the spot he’s looking for.

 Stiles nods. “Yeah. Yeah, except for me.”

 “Good.” Derek mutters, almost too quietly for him to hear. Like maybe he didn’t want him to hear.

 Stiles pushes back onto his finger. “You’re almost there, just…move a little… _oh!_ ”

 Derek moves his finger in slow circles, stretching Stiles as wide as he can with it. Stiles is making embarrassing noises, but Derek seems to be enjoying them so he’s not _too_ embarrassed. And then suddenly Derek’s pulling back and pressing another one in with the first. “ _Derek_ …” he gasps, working himself on the extra digit. “Oh, yes. _Yes_ …” He rocks his hips back, feels Derek’s fingers sink all the way in and it’s just so _good_. When he shifts forward there’s a perfect drag of his cock against the sheets that Stiles needs _more_ of. He starts rocking back and forth on them, likes how smoothly they move inside of him.

 “Look so good, baby.” Derek praises, kissing the dip at the base of his spine.

 “Feels good.” Stiles pants. “More. Come on.”

 Derek starts scissoring his fingers and Stiles gapes soundlessly, hands dragging against the blankets as his back arches near the point of pain. Stiles whines, turning his head to meet Derek’s eyes weakly. “ _More_.” he begs. “ _Please_ , Derek. Just…just a little…”

 Derek shifts up his body, cock settling heavy across his thighs as he slips a third finger inside of him. He kisses Stiles neck when he sobs with pleasure. “Can you come like this?” Derek wonders. “Come on just my fingers?”

 “Yeah, but you have to…have to back up.” Stiles orders. He does, and Stiles moves back with him, climbing onto his knees. It changes the angle just enough that when Derek presses forward again… “ _Derek_.” his voice is broken. An absolute mess, because Derek is touching _right there_ , right against his prostrate,and keeps stabbing in like he’s actually getting something out of it.

 There’s a few tense minutes of Stiles slowly building into what’s sure to be a mind-boggling orgasm, and Derek panting against his neck, the slick noises of his fingers in Stiles’ ass and what has to be his hand on his own cock. And then Derek shudders, and the movement twists his fingers _just right_.

 Stiles comes loudly, and Derek moans with him when he does, mouth hot on the back of his neck. Stiles feels something wet on his leg and thinks about Derek coming on him, near him, and has another hot flash of an orgasm.

 He falls straight into the mess they’ve made with no regrets. Derek lands on top of him, panting into his neck. Stiles feels like every muscle has just melted away. Eventually—he’s not sure when—Derek moves off him and turns him over. Stiles mumbles something about being too tired but Derek ignores him and runs a cool washcloth that he magically produced over the grossness of Stiles’ stomach and groin.

 Stiles snags Derek’s wrist before he can move away and draws him closer for a kiss. Derek kisses him the same way Stiles feels, sleepy and satisfied. Stiles lets him go do something with the washcloth and cuddles against him when he returns. Stiles is half asleep when Derek kisses him again, smiling against his mouth. “I thought it was time to get up.” Stiles shoves a hand against his stomach. Derek laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr!](http://notthepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com/) Where you can find me 900% of the time. Drop by, check it out, send me a [message](http://notthepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com/ask-and-submit%22) if you see fit ^-^


	9. And Suddenly Awkwardness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has an awkward day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was a weird day, so I'm sorry this is late. I'm also sorry this is weird. This is a weird chapter. Just...go with it

 “ _Dude_.” Scott says on Monday, giving him a once over and grinning dopily. “Good weekend?”

 “Very good.” Stiles agrees with a smirk, turning his head just right to flash the series of hickeys spread across his neck.

 “Nice.” Scott high fives him and swings an arm over his shoulder. “So when do we get to meet him?”

 “When I’m not keeping him hostage in my bed.”

 Scott snorts and releases him to go kiss Allison good morning as she approaches. Lydia comes up behind her and looks over Stiles for half a second before dragging him away. “You slept with him.” she accuses once their alone.

 “I did.” he confirms, holding his chin high.

 “Stiles.” she sighs.

 “Lydia,” he grins back, gripping her cheeks. “I love you, but I’m not arguing with you about this.”

 “Because I’m right!” she hisses, shoving at him away. “Stiles, you two are only going to get hurt!”

 “He is _important to me_.” Stiles argues. “He means something, and if you can’t get behind that then _butt out_.”

 She draws back a little, looking hurt. “Stiles, I don’t want to see this go bad. I may act like I hate you, but you’re one of my best friends and…and I can’t stand the thought of this ruining you.”

 He takes her hands. “Just trust me, Lyds. Please. I can’t have you doubting me right now.”

 She nods, and then sweeps him up into a hug. They remain that way until Allison and Scott come up for air and question them about it. Lydia gives some flippant answer about Stiles finally realizing he couldn’t pull off plaid and they all walk to class together.

 The moment Stiles walks into the room, Derek slips in his chair. Stiles avoids looking at him or Lydia by focusing on the curly haired kid in his old spot, the one currently beaming at Allison and Scott. He sidles up to them slowly, cautiously. “So. You’re Isaac?”

 Isaac’s smile dims as his face goes red. “Hey. Stiles.”

 Stiles grins and claps a hand on his shoulder. “It’s cool, man. I’m not going to eat you.” Isaac visibly relaxes. Stiles rolls his eyes and looks at Scott. “What have you been telling him?”

 “That you’re mean and evil and will beat him up if he breaks our hearts.” Allison says, hooking her arm in Scott’s and dragging him in closer, too.

 “Oh, well that’s true.” Stiles admits, smirking at Isaac. “I haven’t seen you around much before.”

 “Didn’t really, uh, get out much.” Isaac shrugs. “Met Allison through her dad. He helped me out.”

 Stiles nods slowly, but lets it go. “Well, you’re getting out now. We should make plans. A study date or something.” Stiles throws an arm around Lydia and wiggles his eyebrows.

 “I thought you had a boyfriend?” Isaac blurts. He blushes a little when Scott hits him but Stiles shrugs.

 “I’m not exactly swinging this way, but Lydia is my muse and shall forever be my one true love. Right, babe?”

 “Sure.” she snorts affectionately, shoving his face away from hers.

 Derek stands loudly—his chair clatters on the floor behind him—and claps his hands. Lydia glances at Stiles knowingly as they take their seats, this time next to Isaac. Derek looks visibly shaken, but Stiles can’t do anything but offer him a reassuring smile. Whatever Derek sees in his face, it must make him relax, because his voice is even and his eyes aren’t terrified when he announces “We’re going to be pairing up for group projects—no, Scott, no groups of five—and doing dioramas of Aztec Burial sites.”

 Stiles smirks over at Lydia, who shakes her head. He frowns. “Why not?”

 “Because you’ll hot glue your fingers together. _Again_. I’m with Allison.”

 He swivels. “Scott?”

 “Sorry, man.” Scott whispers back. “I’m with Isaac.”

 “Pairs, please.”

 Everyone rattles off pair names easily, until it comes to Stiles, who looks around helplessly. No one catches his eye as a potential partner so he shrugs. “Myself, I guess. No on trusts me with a glue gun.”

 “Why am I not surprised?” Derek deadpans. “Anyone else not have a partner?”

 No one answers.

 “Fine. Mr. Stilisnki, you’re on your own. Don’t think this is an excuse to slack off.”

 “I don’t need an excuse.” Stiles promises. Derek glares, Scott cackles, and Lydia smacks the back of his head. As Derek’s explaining what he wants in the project,  Stiles’ phone lights up on the corner of his desk.

  _Great Scott!: Dude, check out the vampire bite on Hale’s neck!!_

 Stiles barely glances up. Sure enough, it’s there. Highly visible and beautifully dark. He texts back _Stop checking out the teacher._

_Great Scott!: Sorry bro. I’ll stop encroaching on your property_

Stiles snorts, glaring at Scott who only shrugs at him. A few minutes later, his phone lights up once more.

_Great Scott!: When do we get to meet Derek? Must be kinda serious if you guys are having weekend sex trips._

_Me: We aren’t that serious._

_Great Scott!: You just don’t want me to steal him_

_Me: Go suck Isaac’s dick_

_Great Scott!: ;)_

 Stiles casually flips his best friend off and then focuses back on the task at hand—Derek outlining the variety of subjects they can pick for their diorama. When the bell rings, Stiles stands slowly, stretching as an excuse to watch Derek raise his eyebrow at him. When the last of the students file out and Derek shuts the door, he saunters up to the desk and sits on the corner. Derek joins him, lacing their fingers together and turning his wrist to study the dark purple bruise.

 “I’m surprised you don’t have a partner.”

 “I do have a partner. He’s real handsome, and good with his hands, and his mouth, and—”

 “I’m serious.”

 Stiles grins. “I told you. No one trusts me with a glue gun. You start a house fire _one time_ and suddenly everyone thinks you’re going to kill them. I was _eleven_ and how was I supposed to know hot glue could start a paper towel on fire? Or a carpet, for that matter.”

 Derek laughs, sitting and just touching him. His hands, arms, fingers… “I’m going to go ahead and guess that’s probably a true story.”

 “I’m still not allowed to use a glue gun.” Stiles sighs. “Which means I’ll have to do all the work during school.”

 “You can come work on it at my place.” Derek suggests. “You know, if you promise not to set it on fire.”

 Stiles sits in silence for a moment just staring at Derek. Because Derek’s just invited him to his _house_. To where he lives. Sleeps. Eats. His brain catches up with him long enough to say “I wouldn’t get any work done at your place, anyway.” before he hurriedly adds on “Not that I’m saying _that’s_ off the table.”

 Derek grins, leaving it open. “I’ve got some things to correct, but if you want to come sit by me…”

 “That sounds good. You can veto my diorama ideas.”

 Derek rolls his eyes and they shift Stiles’ stuff to the side of the desk Derek isn’t using. Stiles sits on the end, hooks his leg around to catch Derek’s ankle, and they settle into a comfortable rhythm. Derek correcting, Stiles diorama planning. It felt almost normal.

 Which was, of course, the moment Laura had to burst into the room. She twirls in with a flourish, brandishing some sort of fast food bag and singing “I’m here!” before noticing the company in the room. “Oh. Stiles.” She grins. “What are you doing here?”

 “Uh, I take an online class. Mr. Hale’s my supervisor.” Stiles says, slowly pulling his leg away from Derek’s.

 “That doesn’t look like online work.”

 “Well, no. I’m ahead. This is for his class.” Stiles nods to Derek. “I was having him help me with my diorama design.”

 “Dioramas, Derek, really?”

 “Shut up, Laura.” Derek sighs. “Why are you here?”

 “I was in town for a hearing and thought ‘You know who I haven’t bugged for awhile?  My baby brother!’ And so here I am, with lunch, to distract you.”

 “I sort of busy right now.” Derek grumbles.

 “Oh, come on. Stiles doesn’t mind. Right, Stiles?”

 Stiles clears his throat and glances between the two, very deliberately not answering yes or no.

 “See? Cool as a cucumber, he is.” Laura grabs a chair and slides it up to the other end of Derek’s desk. “Sorry, Stiles, I didn’t know you’d be here or I’d have brought you something.”

 “That’s okay. I think I’m done here anyway.” Stiles moves to stand and Laura makes a wounded noise.

 “No! Stay! You’re much better company than he is.” she jerks her head to Derek. “And I didn’t mean to dislodge you from your study area.”

 “It’s not—I can just go take some laps.” Stiles says, feeling really, _really_ awkward about…well, everything.

 “Laps?”

 “Stiles is a swimmer.” Derek sighs, pinching his nose.

 Laura lights up again. “A swimmer? That’s awesome! Are you fast?”

 “I, uh…I used to be.” Stiles says, scratching the back of his neck. “Trying to work back up to it.”

 “Used to be? What happened there?” Laura asks, taking a large bite from the sandwich she’s just unwrapped.

 Stiles glances at Derek. He hasn’t told him the story. Doesn’t like to talk about it, actually. Ever, if he can help it. “Uh, I had an accident. It kept me out of the water.”

 “An accident?”

 Stiles clears his throat, blushes a little. Laura jumps when Derek kicks her under the table and hisses her name. She looks at him, hurt and betrayed. “It was, um…I got pushed in, as a joke. It was stupid.” Stiles shrugs, rubbing his wrist absently. Neither of them miss it.

 “Stiles, I’m…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed.” Laura breathes after a long moment. “I’m so sorry.”

 “It’s okay.” he assures her quickly. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”

 “I should probably go.” Laura says, standing. “Even I have limits to inflicting emotional damage.”

 “I’m not—” Stiles tries.

 “Trust me.” Laura says. “Here, take Derek’s sandwich. It’s, uh…it’s the least I could do.”

 Stiles takes the sandwich with a frown. He doesn’t like this part. He doesn’t like _any_ part, but this is his least favorite. The guilty looks of people who didn’t even know he was damaged. Laura leaves with that look on her face and when he looks at Derek, he’s got that look, too. “Stop.”

 Derek looks guiltier.

 “Oh my god, _please don’t_.” Stiles groans, throwing the sandwich at him. “I’m _fine_ , okay?”

 Derek doesn’t look convinced.

 “Derek, _please_. Please believe me. I can’t stand people looking at me like I’m—I’m _broken_.”

 Derek gives him a long, considering look. But he nods. “Okay.”

 Stiles narrows his eyes and gravely holds up a pinky. “Promise me.”

 Derek snorts and gives him a look of disdain, but Stiles keeps it held up because honestly, if Derek expected him to be beyond this level of maturity he should probably know the truth now. Derek rolls his eyes and hooks their pinkies together, and Stiles smiles and kisses him sweetly. “There. See? All good.”

 “Come over tonight.” Derek says, keeping their fingers locked together.

 “What, to your place?”

 “Yeah.”

 Stiles hums. “Okay. After school?”

 “Sure. I’ll text you the address.”

 “Perfect.”

***

 “I’m going through your stuff.” Stiles declares the moment he steps inside the door. He drops his bags and flops onto the couch, testing it with a serious expression. He prods the cushions and glances around the room. “You know, what you have.”

 “I’m a teacher, I don’t have money for things like furniture.” Derek laughs. And it’s somewhat true. He’s got a couch and a coffee table and a TV, but otherwise the place is just small and empty. However, he’s got a huge wall of windows and Stiles stands and stares at them for a solid minute before Derek comes out behind him and wraps his arms around his middle. “Like them?”

 “Yeah,” Stiles nods. “I bet this place just lights up in the morning.”

 “Stays lit up until sunset.” Derek agrees, pressing the words into his shoulder.

 “Can you see the stars?”

 “Unfortunately not.”

 “Hm. I suppose everything has a flaw.”

 “And what’s yours?”

 “Cute.” Stiles laughs, turning his head to smile at him.

 “I can be.” Derek agrees, kissing his cheek. “Want something to eat?”

 “No, not yet. Not really hungry.” Stiles leans back into him. “Could go for a mean cuddle sesh though. Or you know, we could make out. No!” Stiles gasps and rips out of his grasp, turning and grasping Derek’s face. “Show me your room.”

 Derek laughs and leads him up a spiral staircase. The room is open, like the floor below it, and has a bed over on the opposite side. There’s also another wall of windows, though the room is not as tall as the first floor. Stiles drops Derek’s hand and takes a running leap onto the bed, which ends up being the best idea _ever_ , because Derek may not have much but he has a wonderful taste in beds. Stiles moans and rolls in his blankets. “This is _so_ comfortable.”

 “Glad you like it.” Derek grins.

 Stiles levers himself up and makes grabby hands at him. “Come here, come cuddle.”

 Derek climbs on next to him, and Stiles turns into his side and snuggles. Derek, for all his muscles, was a grade-A cuddler and Stiles loved to take advantage of it. Derek’s hands starts rubbing absently against his side, his mouth pressing soft kisses to his forehead intermittently. “I really am glad you like it.” Derek murmurs.

 “I do.” Stiles agrees. “I could live in this bed.” Derek falls suspiciously quiet at that. But before Stiles can call him on it, he’s rolling him over and kissing him stupid. Stiles makes a surprised noise but that’s as far as he gets before Derek’s swallowing his tongue and sucking all of his air away. Stiles does break apart to breathe and Derek pants into his neck, biting at the marks he’d left before. “Derek?” Stiles asks, nervous but _turned on_. “Derek, I’m…all for… _nnng, fuck_ …”

 Derek laughs into his neck. “I may…like you…in my bed.”

 Stiles nods, far beyond words all of a sudden. He feels dizzy. “Clothes. _Clothes_.”

 Derek sits up and starts on his shirt. Stiles starts working on the bottom while he starts at the top and they might in the middle, Stiles swatting his fingers away with an annoyed growl, peeling it down Derek’s arms until he can toss it aside. Derek shrugs out of his undershirt while Stiles struggles with getting the button-up out of the way.

 Stiles glares at him when he laughs, but he still goes down when Derek presses him back. “Shut up, we’re not all elegant assholes.”

 “I think your asshole is very elegant.”

 “Oh my god, _shut up_.”

 Derek laughs into a kiss, pulling Stiles’ shirt slowly over his head. Stiles shakes free and then puts his fingers to use on Derek’s slacks. Derek kisses him until their undone, and then moves his lips down his torso, stopping at the waistband of his jeans to undo them.

 Derek also apparently has a thing for briefs, because when he sees Stiles’ his eyes go wide with laser focus. “You…”

 “Skinny jeans are a bitch to get boxers into.” Stiles laughs breathlessly. The fucking things are _purple_. How could he possibly where his most unattractive underwear at a time like this? “Oh, god, just take them off.”

 “Fuck, I can…you’re so _hard_ …”

 Stiles looks down just in time to watch Derek’s hand smooth across his crotch, wondering at how the material showed everything and nothing. Stiles makes an embarrassingly high noise and clutches desperately at the sheets. “Derek,” he whines. “Don’t tease me, you fucking—”

 “You tease me.” Derek rumbles. Stiles can feel his fucking grin on his thigh before he bites. “Just returning the favor.”

 “No, no, no…” Stiles moans, head whipping back and forth.

 “Shh,” Derek breathes over his cock. “Calm down, Stiles.”

 “ _Derek_.”

 “God, you’re mouth.” Derek laughs, but it sounds a little forced. Stiles forces his eyes open to meet his. “I have fucking fantasies about your mouth, Stiles. In the middle of class, sometimes. God, I never want to stop touching you. Want you _always_. Can’t stop thinking about this weekend, thinking about you. About us.”

 Stiles nods, clutches at Derek’s shoulders to get him closer, to pull him up until Stiles can kiss him. He wraps around him, legs over his hips and arms crushing his neck with his mouth devouring Derek’s because he’s starved for this. For him. He doesn’t have the coherency to tell him he wants him always, too, but he thinks it and he tries to show it in the desperate way he’s touching every inch of Derek possible.

 And maybe he should be a little ashamed that he’s this easy. That all it takes is Derek kissing him and suddenly he’s hard and ready, but he’s not. He brings Derek’s hands up and sets them on his chest, on his skin, and guides them down. “Touch me.” Stiles encourages. “Anywhere. Everywhere.”

 Derek looks just about ready to do that when someone’s phone starts ringing. Stiles groans, pulls Derek close as a plea to ignore it. Derek grins and kisses him more firmly, hands clutching at his hips. The phone stops ringing, but only for a second and then it picks up again. Stiles groans, shakes his head. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

 “It could be important.” Derek laughs, untangling them. “Just—I just have to check.”

 Stiles sighs and flops into the pillows. He looks up when Derek swears, sees Derek staring in wide-eyed horror at his cell phone, which has stopped ringing at this point. “Hey, you okay?”

 The phone starts ringing again. Derek blows out a breath, drags his hand across his face, and then answers it with a heavy “Hey, Mom.”

 Stiles can’t keep his laugh down so he turns and shoves his face into Derek’s pillow and cackles.

 “Mom, I’m fine. I told you that—no, I know it’s Monday. I know, I told you I was busy this—yes, yes with someone…yes, he— _no_. _No_ , you cannot talk to him. Mother, listen to me. Mom. _Mom_.”

Stiles grins, throwing himself around Derek, pressing tiny kisses into his neck. Derek glares at him, but it’s weak. He can just hear the sound of an angry woman chewing Derek out on the other end.

 Derek sighs, grabbing onto Stiles’ wrists. Stiles can hear her side of the conversation, too, now, so he hears her ask to talk to him. “Mom, please. We were _busy_.” There’s more displeased words at the mention of that, and Derek sighs heavily.

 Stiles kisses under Derek’s ear, drawing a soft look from him that he returns with a smile. Then suddenly Derek rolls his eyes. “Mother, we can discuss this when I call you tonight. Alright? Goodbye.”

 Stiles chuckles when he hangs up and chucks his phone away, leaning back as Derek crawls back up the bed. “You’re mother sounds fun.”

 “She is.” Derek admits, dragging his thumb across his collar bone. “She’s going to want to meet you.”

 Stiles catches his wrist to pull it up, pressing tiny kisses to his wrist and palm. “I’m sorry.”

 “It’s okay.” Derek murmurs, turning his chin to kiss him. “Besides, you’d probably become her new favorite, and then where would I be?”

 “Isn’t that what boyfriends do? Woo the family?”

 Derek pauses, then links their fingers together. “Boyfriends, huh?”

 “It’s been almost three months.” Stiles reminds him, trying not to let his nerves show.

 Derek gets quiet and nods, looks at their hands and says “I wish you could meet them.” very quietly.

 Stiles nods, squeezing their hands. “I know. Me, too. Someday, though.” He bumps their noses to force Derek’s eyes on his. “Right?”

 Derek nods, lifting his chin to press a small kiss to Stiles’ mouth. “Someday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr!](http://www.thepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com)


	10. And Suddenly Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Stiles wanted was a New Years kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I wish I had time to come up with some extra chapters so I could have this come out on Christmas. And yes, I did just kind of skip Thanksgiving. If you'd like to imagine it, Stiles ate so much food that when he came back to school he was still a bit pudgy and Derek spent a whole afternoon feeling him up.

 “Is he good in bed?”

 Stiles snorts down the phone at Lydia, kicking absently at his backpack on the end of the bed. “Yeah. You know, what we’ve done?”

 “What _have_ you done?” Lydia asks, a leer evident in her voice.

 “None of your business.” Stiles replies primly.

 “I’m guessing that means enough.” she decides. “He’s treating you well, right? I’ve seen those marks. Those _are_ love bites, right?”

 Stiles laughs. “Yes, Lyds, he’s treating me fine. He even got me a Christmas present.”

 “What’d he get you?”

 Stiles glances over to the black photo album and grins, rolling to brush his fingers over the cover. “Something personal.”

 Lydia sighs. “Fine, what did you get _him,_ then?”

 “Also personal.”

“I don’t suppose it was red and lacy?”

 “You went through my drawers?”

 “Stiles,” she sighs, disappointed. He supposes it’s fair. Really, he should’ve noticed. “Did he like them?”

 “Yeah.” Stiles laughs. “I mean, I ordered him something else, but it didn’t show up until after break started and he’d already gone back to New York.”

 “Have you talked to him since he went back?”

 “No. But it’s only been a week. He needs time with his family.” Stiles doesn’t mention how Derek wanted to keep contact limited, just in case. He understood, even if he wasn’t a huge fan.

 Lydia apparently understands, too, getting uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m sorry.” she says, sincere. After a long moment of Stiles letting the sadness creep in, she follows it with “What happens after graduation?”

 Stiles rubs a hand over his eyes. He’d been trying not to think about it. The big ‘what ifs.’ What if they survived past graduation? What if they didn’t? What if they got caught? What if Derek got fired? What if his family found out? What if _Stiles’ dad_ found out? “I’m trying not to think about it.”

 “Well, what would you tell people? That you met in class?”

 “I don’t know, Lydia.” he snaps. His phone beeps and he sighs, glancing at it. “Look, let me call you back. It’s Derek.”

 “Tell him hi.”

 “I’m not telling him hi.” Stiles says firmly before switching lines. “Hi.”

 Derek sighs. “You don’t sound any happier than me.”

 “What’s wrong?”

 “I literally just had to explain to forty people that I was seeing someone seriously enough not to get set up with their dentist’s daughter but not seriously enough to bring him to Christmas.”

 Stiles chases the jealousy with humor. “Forty people have a dentist with a daughter? That’s impressive. You should be writing this down for statistics. Like, are they all _different_ dentists?”

 Derek laughs. It sounds exhausted but Stiles gets the feeling he needed it. “God, I miss you.”

 “I miss you, too.” he admits. There’s a long moment of silence where he looks around for a distraction, coming across the package in the corner. “Your present showed up yesterday.”

 “My present? I thought I got that before I left.”

 “Well, that was one of them. But those were also kind of my present to me. So it doesn’t count all the way.”

 “Okay.” Derek chuckles. “What’d you get me?”

 “Well, you don’t get to _know_.” Stiles scoffs. “It’s a Christmas present.”

 Derek sighs again, and Stiles hears the telltale creak of a bed. “Okay, give me a hint.” Derek mumbles, obviously drifting into sleep.

 “You didn’t have to call.” Stiles murmurs. “You could’ve just gone to bed. Sent me a text or something.”

 “No, I wanted to hear you.” Derek argues. “Now stop deflecting. Give me a hint.”

 Stiles rolls his eyes and settles in. “It’s clothing.”

 Derek hums, sounding intrigued. “So you can wear it.”

 “It’s not clothing for me, but yes.”

 “With the panties?”

 Stiles laughs, shaking his head. “I could.”

 “Best present ever.” Derek declares.

 Stiles grins at his ceiling dumbly. “But it’s not _for_ me to wear, you idiot. It’s for you.”

 “So we can both wear it?”

 “Derek.” Stiles snorts.

 “At the same time, maybe?” Derek prompts.

 “No. God, just take your goddamn present.”

 Derek laughs. “Okay.”

 Stiles is suddenly struck by how much he misses Derek’s laugh. How much he misses being wrapped up with him and hearing his voice in his own ear instead of through a speaker. He chews on his lip, listening to his breathing for a disturbing amount of time before he asks “When do you get back?”

 Derek seems to have hit the same realization of missing Stiles, because he sounds sad when he says “Next week.”

 “After New Years.” Stiles sighs, glaring at the 3 Doors Down poster like it’s their fault for this tragedy.

 “Yeah.”

 “I was hoping to get my first New Years kiss.” he admits.

 Derek gets suspiciously quiet. Then “Next year.” he murmurs. “Put me down for next year.”

 Stiles grins and closes his eyes. “Yeah, sure.” he agrees, wondering if they’ll fall asleep together on the phone. “I’ll do that.”

 “Stiles…”

 “Yeah?” he yawns.

 “I’m really, dangerously close to saying something I shouldn’t.”

 Stiles smiles. “Oh yeah? Is it a cheesy pickup line? Because I love those.”

 “It’s not a cheesy pickup line.” Derek admits, probably smiling.

 Stiles laughs. “Damn. Okay, well, you can tell me anyway, if you want.”

 “I love you.”

 Stiles’ speech halts. All motor functions halt, apparently, for a solid minute. Long enough for Derek to let out a ragged sigh that sounds suspiciously like he might be getting ready to cry. “Oh.” he says dumbly, brain still whirring.

 “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

 “No! No, it’s…this is good.” Stiles sits up, tries to keep his heart in check and fails. “This is amazing.”

 “Stiles?”

 “I love you, too. I do. I’m not just saying it because you said it, though I didn’t want to say it because what if you didn’t and then it would just be weird. But you said it, so I’ll say it. I love you. I love _you_ , Derek Hale, like, a whole lot. Wow. You need to come home. Right away.”

 Derek laughs, sounding somewhere between relief and pain. “Stiles.”

 “Stop using my name as sentences. Just because I know what they mean doesn’t mean you get to use it.”

 “I love you.”

 Stiles smiles. “I love you, too.”

 “I want to see you. I should be there.”

 “Yeah, you should. This was a really crappy way to tell me that, Derek. Because I can’t even properly kiss you, you know that?”

 Derek laughs. It feels like he’s wrapping Stiles up. “I’ll be home soon.”

 “You better.”

 “I love you.” Derek says again, softer. Happy to finally say it.

 “Yeah,” Stiles agrees, curling into his blankets. “I love you, too.”

***

 Stiles spent the first half of high school being abysmally unpopular. Lydia blames it on his obsession with graphic t-shirts, but since that hasn’t changed he thinks it was probably the buzz cut and the flailing. Even last year had been a weird limbo year, where Lydia had hung around him simply because Allison was hanging around Scott but they didn’t actually get invited to anything. Or, he didn’t.

 This year, though, Scott shows up at his house looking out of place—which should be a warning in itself, Scott practically lived at Stiles’ house—and hands him a piece of paper. Stiles raises his eyebrow but unfolds it. In Lydia’s perfect scrawl it simply says _Wear something ass-hugging and be here before eleven._

 “What’s this?”

 “Lydia’s version of inviting us to her party. Or, inviting you. My invite came in the form of Allison telling me we were going.”

 “Is the whole posse going? And how does the whole midnight kiss thing work?”

 “Me and Kira, Isaac and Allison.” Scott answers automatically, and then blushes a little. “But yeah, we’re all going. Lydia wanted to make sure you were going tonight.”

 “If she’s sending my best friend after me, do I really have a choice?”

 “Even if she didn’t, do you have a choice?”

 Stiles snorts and allows that, because he’d been in a weird state with Lydia for years, but they’d finally found their niche. He was her pet project, and she was his second best friend. It worked out. So Stiles throws on a red v-neck for festive purposes and his black skinny jeans because their Lydia’s favorite—“Stiles, if you were straight, these would make me want to bang you.”—before picking up a Santa hat, too. Because he can’t resist getting on her nerves.

 “This is a New Year’s party.” Scott tells him with a stupid grin when he hops back into the living room with the hat dangling off his head.

 “Like you wouldn’t do this if you weren’t tied up with Allison, who would murder you.”

 Scott just snorts and changes the channel.

 “When does she want us over there?” Stiles sighs, flopping next to him and considering the angry looking bullfrog on screen.

 “Before eleven.” Scott shrugs, grimacing as the frog eats something in slow motion. “Allison is taking Isaac and Kira around ten thirty, I think.”

 “Is this at her place?”

 “No, she booked up the Jungle for it. Got a huge jumbo screen for the ball drop and some illegal booze.”

 “Perfect.” Stiles throws his legs over Scott’s.

 “So how’s Derek?” Scott asks nonchalantly.

 “He’s good.” Stiles smirks. “With his family for Christmas, so.”

 “It’s been, what…three months? Four?”

 “About.” Stiles agrees carefully. “Why?”

 “Well, I just think it’s weird that in that three months, no one’s met him.”

 “Lydia’s met him.”

 “Stiles.”

 Stiles shrugs guiltily, looks back at the TV.

 “Is he ugly or something? Because as long as you’re happy, you know I don’t care.”

 Stiles laughs, hears someone knocking and shoves Scott’s head when he stands. “Like anyone could be uglier than you.” he jeers, opening the door. He thinks maybe his dad’s forgotten his keys again, but instead he finds Derek, looking flushed an exhausted, but _here_. On his _doorstep_. “Oh my god.” he breathes.

 “Hi.” Derek laughs.

 Stiles forgets for a solid minute where he is and flings himself across the threshold, mouth finding Derek’s with unerring precision. Derek sighs and drags him closer, breaking the kiss only to breathe “I missed you.”

 “Hey, who—”

 Stiles’ heart plummets as he spins. Scott rounds the corner and goes bug-eyed, looking between Derek and Stiles in the silence. “Uh…”

 “Scott.” Stiles breathes, forcing himself away from Derek and holding his hands up, like Scott might maul him if he doesn’t. “Scott, just let me explain.”

 “Derek _Hale_.” Scott says quietly, eyes going back to a more reasonable size. “ _He’s_ Derek.”

 “Scott, please…”

 “You said Lydia met him.” He looks at Stiles, hurt crossing his face. “You’re seeing our teacher and you told Lydia instead of me?”

 “She found out.” Stiles argues. “I didn’t—I didn’t tell her, she just—”

 “Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Scott’s voice cracks and Stiles winces. “I’m your brother, Stiles, I thought, with Allison and Kira and Isaac…I thought I could trust you.”

 “You can. Scott, it’s not like that. You have to know that. It’s _not_.”

 “You’ve been _fucking him!_ ” Scott shrieks, jabbing a finger in Derek’s direction. “Our goddamn _teacher_ , Stiles! And you didn’t think to fucking _mention_ it? You’ve just—you’ve just been letting me ask fucking stupid questions about some fake boyfriend in Sacramento because—because _why?”_

“Because no one was supposed to know! Scott, please. Please, just…just don’t tell anyone. They can’t know. Nobody can know.”

 “You wanna know _why,_ Stiles? Why no one can find out you’re sleeping with him? Because it’s fucking _wrong_. Because he’s our teacher. God, fuck…I knew you were desperate for valedictorian, but _Jesus_ , Stiles.”

  “Fuck you.” Stiles spits, wiping at the tears starting to sting his eyes. “That’s not what this is, and you know it. You—you’re just upset, and I get it, Scott, but this is important.”

 “More important than family?”

 Stiles twists his face into a snarl to hide his wince.

 “Whatever.” Scott mutters. “You’re precious secret is safe with me.” And then he’s stomping out of the house, past Derek who’s standing there silent and stunned. Stiles let’s out an angry sob, turning to slam his fist into the drywall and then crying harder when it only serves to hurt him.

 “Stiles, hey. Stop. Stop that.”

 Derek takes his wrists and drags him into his chest, holds him until Stiles has stopped crying long enough to lift his chin and kiss him. Kiss him with every minute he’d missed Derek and with every ounce of love in his system. Kiss him until Derek leans away, until he stops seeing Scott’s betrayal in his face. “I love you.” Stiles mumbles. “You know that.”

 Derek nods. “I love you, too.”

 Stiles leans into his shoulder. “I need you to do something for me. Something very illegal.”

 “What?” Derek asks carefully.

 “Take me home, and get me drunk.”

***

 “Why the Santa hat?”

 Stiles smirks into Derek’s chest. They’re sprawled out on Derek’s couch, the Ball Drop playing quietly in the background. The aforementioned hat is sitting on the coffee table with the one and a half bottles of sparkling cider they’d already consumed. Derek had refused to add ‘contributing to a minor’ to his list of wrong doings, which Stiles had insisted wasn’t a list at all but in fact a figment of his imagination.

 Either way, he was startlingly sober for New Year’s Eve, and maybe equally as surprising is how much he doesn’t mind. “Lydia’s party.” he says sleepily. “It would’ve pissed her off.”

 “Hmm.” Derek’s fingers brush across the back of his neck, soft and soothing. “What is your relationship with Lydia?”

 “Stalker turned best friend?” Stiles guesses. “I don’t really know. I liked her for awhile, when I thought I might be bi. But then there was this party and this girl and…well, anyway. We became friends after her boyfriend ran off to London. Sometimes I think she just wanted a gay best friend, but then I realize she just wants someone who’s not going to be into her for any other reason than for who she is as a person. Like, I can appreciate her looking sexy without actually wanting in her pants.”

 “Huh.”

 “It’s weird.” Stiles agrees with a sigh, lifting his head to look at Derek’s eyes. They flick from the TV to him immediately, the edges lifting from tired to a hint of a smile. “I’m weird, though, so it balances out.”

 “You are kind of weird.”

 Stiles snorts, struggling to sit up and then run his index finger across Derek’s neck. “You like it.”

 “I love it.” Derek corrects, a lazy smirk spreading over his face.

 Stiles pulls on his collar playfully. “You love it.” Stiles agrees. “You love me.”

 “I do.”

 “And I love you.”

 “I’d hope so.”

 “Shut up.” Stiles snorts, shaking his head. He starts lifting Derek’s shirt.

 “Sorry.” Derek says, looking decidedly not sorry.

 Stiles ignores him and works his shirt off with Ryan Seacrest cheerfully announcing the next musician in the background. Derek only lifts his shoulders and arms towards the end, when it might’ve gotten awkward otherwise. Stiles drops the shirt to the floor, eyeing the goosebumps that appear on Derek’s skin. “Should turn your heat up.” he observes absently, fingers playing across them.

 “I wasn’t planning on having company.” Derek tells him quietly.

 Stiles smirks at him before turning his attention back to his torso, tracing the soft line of hair disappearing into his jeans with a careful finger. “I’m glad you came back.”

 “Are you?”

 Stiles nods, tracing the rise of his hipbone.

 “I wouldn’t be, if I were you.”

 Stiles looks up at him, eyes wide. “Why not?”

 “I’ve isolated you from your best friends.”

 “That’s not true.”Stiles argues. Derek doesn’t look convinced, so Stiles leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “It’s not. Scott will come around, okay? And…and I don’t want to spend tonight worrying about when that will be. I didn’t come here to mope. I came here to spend New Year’s Eve with my boyfriend.”

 Derek smirks. “Well, maybe I should go get him for you, then?”

 Stiles chuckles, leaning forward to kiss Derek’s neck, tongue scraping over stubble. “I like it when you don’t shave.” he admits. “Feels nice.”

 “I’ll remember that.”

 Stiles drags his cheek across until their lips line up. The kiss is slow and careful yet somehow still sloppy. Derek’s tugging his shirt up and off and Stiles moves back to allow it. His fingers flutter across his abdomen uncertainly before brushing across a nipple and making Stiles whine. Derek presses his other hand up to push against the other one more firmly, and Stiles opens his eyes to glare while breathing through his teeth. “This better be going somewhere.”

 “It is.” Derek promises lowly, eyes trained on his own fingers as they play with the budding nubs. “I didn’t know these were sensitive.”

 “Sometimes.” Stiles says, licking his lips. Derek’s eyes flicker down with the movement, and then he smirks and twists a nipple. Stiles does a full body spasm, nearly knocking his head into Derek’s. Derek just laughs and leans up, catching his earlobe between his teeth.

 Stiles turns and snatches his mouth into a greedy kiss that Derek keeps pulling away from for no reason. “Stop…moving…away.” Stiles growls, finally bringing his hands up to lock into Derek’s hair. Derek’s hands shift to keep him held up above him. Stiles bites at Derek’s lip when he sighs. “What are you sighing about?”

 “I love you.”

 “I love you.” Stiles says slowly. “So why the sighing?”

 “Don’t worry about the sighing.” Derek orders, kissing him again. Stiles makes a few mumbled protests but he gets lost pretty quickly into kissing Derek again. Derek’s hands wander and Stiles cups his jaw and kisses him with every bit of love and adoration he can muster until Derek backs away again. “I want to take you to bed.”

 “Did you ask my father? Did you exchange cows?” Stiles asks, grinning. Derek huffs, but Stiles only nods. “Yeah, okay.” he agrees, kissing him again. Derek moves into this one, sitting them up. Stiles fits like a puzzle piece on his lap, legs splayed on either side of his and slowly hardening cock pressing against Derek’s stomach. “This isn’t taking me to bed,” he notes around Derek’s tongue.

 Derek snorts, turning to nip at his jaw. “You have to get off of me.”

 “That’s so close to the perfect sentence.” Stiles teases, tugging on his earlobe.

 “Stop quoting Doctor Who at me.”

 “The fact you recognize that gets me hot and bothered.”

 Derek laughs, lazily trailing his tongue across a smattering of moles of Stiles’ shoulder. “Get up before I change my mind.”

 “You won’t change your mind.” Stiles argues even as he stands. Derek stands and grabs his hand, tugging him towards the staircase and kissing him intermittently. “I’m too hot.”

 “Yes, that’s why.” Derek agrees, shoving Stiles at the stairs. Stiles runs up and turns to catch Derek, tugging him towards the bed. He doesn’t need to—they’d both end up there anyway—but he wants to touch. To trace the hardly visible chicken pox scars and the hard lines of muscle. He wants his hands on Derek’s skin and Derek seems on board with that, holding his wrists as they travel all across him.

 Stiles stumbles back when he hits the bed, collapsing backwards. Derek leans over him and kisses him through the giggles, quieting them into soft sounds of pleasure. Stiles works his hips up and catches Derek’s lip between his teeth. “Fuck me.” he whispers quietly. “I want you to.”

 Derek nods, fingers popping his button and pulling on his zipper. Stiles drags off his t-shirt and lifts his hips to shove his jeans down while Derek stands and sheds his own, underwear following it. When they’re both naked, Derek stands away for a moment, both of them looking before Derek’s on him again, mouth hot and insistent. Stiles opens up easily, nails cutting into Derek’s shoulders momentarily before he relaxes. Derek moves away and Stiles turns his attention to his shoulder, which is the only part he can reach. He drags his tongue across it and something drops to the floor.

 Stiles giggles but Derek’s on him again, this time with wet fingers pressing between his legs. “Mm, wait.” Stiles says, shimmying a little to get comfortable. He nods and closes his eyes. The first finger slips in easily enough that Derek adds a second in less than a minute. Stiles hisses a little with it, but works his hips down on it. “How many?” he breathes. “How many do I need before…”

 Derek kisses his neck adoringly. “At least three. And I’ll need to stretch them a little.”

 Stiles groans as Derek spreads his fingers with the words. He nods eagerly, focusing on the warmth of Derek’s lips on his throat when he works the third one in. His legs catch around Derek’s waist, clinging while Stiles tries so _hard_ not to come. Derek’s good, stretching him while avoiding his prostate. But Stiles so damn _ready_ for him that any touch of skin burns.

 “Now,” he groans. “Oh, fuck, Derek, _now_.” he begs.

 Derek’s fingers slip free. Stiles opens his eyes and catches his, nods again and pulls him close to bump noses because he can’t bring himself to focus on kissing. This shakes free all Derek’s doubts and he presses the head of his cock against Stiles without further prompting. His hips jerk forward when Stiles moans, involuntary but effective as Derek breeches him. Stiles bites his lip. “Gotta…move forward. Get inside. _Derek_.”

 Derek nods and finishes sliding his hips against Stiles, until they’re pressed together. Stiles focuses on relaxing his muscles, on allowing Derek inside him, and Derek seems focused on Stiles’ jaw. Stiles eventually nods, and Derek pulls out slowly, pushing back in just as carefully. Stiles moans this time, going boneless. Derek fucks him slowly, their mouths finding each other only occasionally. Neither of them can bring themselves to care too much about kissing, but Derek keeps talking. Stiles isn’t sure if he’s responding, but he thinks he might be, if just by noises.

 “God, Stiles, you’re so beautiful. I love you so much, Jesus.” Derek breathes into his mouth. “You feel so good, baby. So tight, _god,_ just—Stiles, look at me. Baby, look at me.”

 He does, blearily because Derek’s rocking himself into Stiles is the most glorious rhythm and it’s fogging up his _everything_. Derek cups his face, tucking the tip of his thumb into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles closes around it, sucks at it gently. Derek groans, hips stuttering. “ _Stiles_.”

 Stiles moans around his thumb, bites it when he drags it out. “I’m getting close.” he breathes, lifting his hips ever so slightly as Derek enters him again and it hits the perfect spot, sending electricity up his spine. “ _There,_ ” he gasps. “Oh, Derek. _Derek_.”

 “I’ve got you.” Derek murmurs, pulling his hips up and grinding against that spot. Stiles mouth is open but nothings coming out. Derek fills the silence for him. “I’ve got you, baby. I love you. I’m right here. You can come, I’ve got you.”

 Stiles does come, with a sharp cry and a jerk of his hips. It doesn’t burst out of him as much as slip. It’s a slow-burn orgasm, filling him up slowly and dropping him like a feather. Derek kisses his collar lovingly, hips continuing to grind until Stiles has to push him away. He pulls out carefully, grinning at Stiles’ complaint of being empty. “You’re too sensitive.”

 Stiles sighs and reaches down, knocking Derek’s fingers off his cock to pull at it himself, slow, sure tugs that have Derek a wreck in under a minute. “I love you.” Stiles mumbles. “I love you and your eyebrows and your stupid abs.” Derek laughs breathlessly, glaring. Stiles twists his wrist and Derek’s smile falters into pleasure. “I love you, no matter what.” Derek shivers and Stiles squeezes. “I want to see you come. Please. I want to see it.”

 Derek nods, hips bucking into Stiles’ hands. He leans forward and kisses him briefly before he shudders and comes, entire body seizing up and then collapsing. He lands on Stiles—sandwiching his come onto their stomachs—with a grunt. Stiles pulls his hand free and wipes it on Derek’s sheets, using his other one to rub circles into Derek’s shoulders. “Okay?”

 “Yeah.” Derek sighs heavily. “I love you.”

 Stiles lifts his chin and kisses him. “I love you, too.”

 Derek glances over him and laughs. “We’re half an hour early.”

 “I’ll still count it.” Stiles decides, kissing him again. “Happy New Year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm not going to lie to you all. I made this extra long because I'm buttering you up.  
> I'm apologizing in advance.  
> [Tumblr!](http://www.thepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com)


	11. And Suddenly Everything Sucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to go very wrong, very quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACK??? And better than that, you guys get a bit of a surprise at the end of the chapter. So make sure to check those notes out.

 When Stiles wakes up in the morning, he’s alone. He can hear Derek talking though, saying cheerful things to someone he _can’t_ hear. He stretches luxuriously in the bed and then rolls out of it, pulling on boxers he’s positive are Derek’s and wandering into the living room.

 “No, yeah, it was good, I got back in—” Derek stutters, blinking wildly at Stiles, mouth hanging open.

 Stiles snorts and plops down next to him, burying his face in Derek’s neck.

 “Uh, sorry. I got distracted. There was a…thing.” Stiles bites down. Derek swats at him with a hiss. “What? No, that was—paper cut.”

 Stiles chuckles, nuzzling him. He can hear a vaguely familiar tone coming across the speaker and then it hits him. “Is that your mom?”

 Derek casts him a glance and nods.

 Stiles sinks back with the realization, focus torn from Derek’s neck to the tattoo between his shoulder blades. Stiles has only caught glimpses of it before, but now he can trace the green-black lines, dragging his nail across them slowly, watching Derek’s spine ripple as he shivers.

 “Yes, Mom, I had a great time…I didn’t leave because of Peter…Even though he was an asshole…jerk, yes, sorry.”

 Stiles snorts.

 “Mom, it was great, okay. I told you why I left.” Derek sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I had something to take care of here.”

 Stiles glances at him. He runs a hand over his face, sighing. It’s a very similar sigh to the one from last night.  He swallows and sits back.

 “I’ll call you this weekend, Mom…Yes, I’ll say hi to Laura.”

 Stiles watches him say his goodbyes before leaning in to rest his cheek on Derek’s shoulder. “You okay?”

 Derek sighs, nodding. “Yeah, just…family.” Derek turns to look at him for a long moment before standing. “We should get dressed.”

 Stiles blinks. “Oh. Are we going somewhere?”

 “Laura wants me to come up and see her. I’ll probably be there overnight, so…”

 “So you want me to go home.” Stiles finishes, nodding as he stands. “Right. Okay.”

 “You know that’s not what I meant.” Derek sighs.

 Stiles swallows, nods quickly. “No, I—I know, but… I want to meet them.” he blurts, then cringes. “Or, I wish I could…I want to be _able_ to meet them, and it just sucks, okay? And what are we going to tell people? If we make it past graduation, what are we going to say? What are we going to tell your parents, or _my_ dad? All the teachers are going to know where we met, I’ll never be able to go to a faculty dinner. It’s like…no matter what happens, I can’t actually be with you. It’s always got to be some kind of secret.”

  “You’re right.” Derek agrees slowly. “About all of that. If you didn’t want to deal with it—”

 “Of course I don’t!” Stiles snaps. “This—this _drama_ was never something I wanted. I wanted you. Us. I am willing to put up with everything else for it, but it’s not something I want.”

 Derek is silent and grim for a long time, and then shrugs indifferently. “You’ll always just be my student, Stiles, no matter—”

 “ _Just_ your student?” Stiles interrupts, looking at him sharply. “Excuse me? Because here I thought we were boyfriends, that we were at least _close_ to equals.”

 “You’re a kid, Stiles.”

 Stiles is not ashamed to say he flees.

 “Stiles, hold on. Sit down.”

 “Why?” Stiles snaps as he runs to the bedroom. Derek follows him and the panic sets in as he dresses. “I get it. You think I don’t get what’s going on, but I do. You can’t introduce me to your friends, or your family. You never planned to, in the long run, right? If you even thought about that at all. Maybe you didn’t. Maybe it was just me, being a stupid _kid_.”

 “Stiles, I didn’t mean—I just—that came out wrong, okay?”

 “Then what did you _actually_ mean?” Stiles asks, his arms trapped in his shirt and feeling so, _so_ helpless. He turns to Derek and takes a deep breath. “Tell me what you meant.” he orders as calmly as he can.

 “I just meant that…there are…you don’t know where your life is going yet. And maybe, if we just…waited. Then it wouldn’t be so hard.”

 “It wouldn’t be so _hard?_ That’s what—I’ve got news for you, Derek, this was always going to be hard. You knew that. You _knew_ and you still kissed me! If you were going to just leave when the going got tough, why did you kiss me in the first place?”

 “I didn’t actually think I’d fall in love with you!”

 Stiles feels dizzy. Everything is spinning and nothing feels right. His own _clothes_ don’t feel right. “So you were just going to do what? Fuck me? Forget about me? And because I’m just a kid I’d be okay with it, right? Like you and Kate?”

 Derek goes white. “It wasn’t like that. Stiles, you _know_ —”

 “I can’t do this right now.” Stiles says, finally managing to get his shirt on. “I need to not do this right now.”

“Stiles, hold on!”

Stiles snaps. “No! Don’t fucking touch me! You either let me out that door or I will _make_ you.”

 “Stiles,” Derek says, and it’s broken enough that Stiles hesitates for a moment. “I just want you to be happy.”

 “You don’t get to decide how I get to be happy.” Stiles chokes out. “You’re doing this because you’re scared, because you don’t want to stick around. Not because of me and _my_ fucking happiness.” He slams the door in Derek’s face and makes a run for his Jeep before remembering he hadn’t driven here. He starts walking, miserable and cold and alone. He picks up his phone and dials after a few minutes.

 “You must’ve had a good night.” Lydia answers condescendingly. “I certainly hope you did, because Scott got drunk enough he threw up on my carpet and you totally missed—”

 “Lyds?”

 She pauses. “What happened?”

 “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” Stiles sighs, scrubbing at his face to keep the tears from freezing there. “You knew it would and—and I didn’t listen. I didn’t listen to you.”

 “Did he hurt you?”

 Stiles stops and leans against a wall, sniffing. “Yeah. Yeah, he did.”

***

 Stiles doesn’t talk to anyone for three days. Lydia’s first to break him by coming into his house unbidden and shoving cookies down his throat. She doesn’t ask questions, just feeds him and lays in bed and watches Disney movies. It’s good, considering the hell he’s going through.

 Scott doesn’t contact him for the entirety of Christmas break. In fact, no one does except for Lydia. He doesn’t know if it’s deliberate or not, but he doesn’t particularly care, either. He doesn’t want to talk to Scott, or to Allison acting as a go between, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to talk to Derek.

 When school starts again, Stiles studiously avoids any part of school Derek could possibly be in. If he’s late for a few classes, then it’s a sacrifice he’ll make. He doesn’t eat lunch anymore, either, for fear of running into Scott. He goes for a couple of weeks, living a day-by-day existence that leaves him fucking exhausted at the end of it.

 Apparently everyone else gets pretty sick of it, too, because Scott appears in his bedroom on their third week back and sits on his bed quietly picking at his fingernails. “Stiles…you’re my brother.” he says quietly. “My best friend. I love you, and I trust you.”

 “But?” Stiles puts in bitterly.

 Scott chews on his cheek for a second before looking at Stiles. “He was our teacher, Stiles. What did you expect me to think?”

 “That I’m a legal adult who can make his own decision.”

 “It was a weird situation, Stiles.”

 Stiles nods slowly. “Yeah, it was.”

 After a few minutes of tense silence, Scott swallows thickly. “I’m sorry for freaking out. I was upset and confused, but…but we should’ve talked about it.”

 Stiles nods. “It’s okay. I should’ve told you. You’re right, you’re my brother. If I can’t trust you, who can I trust?”

 Scott nudges his shoulder and they call it good.

 Stiles agrees to come clean to everyone—he feels obligated at this point—but he doesn’t get a chance before Scott slams into the locker next to him and hisses “I didn’t tell them anything, Stiles, I swear to god.”

 “Tell who what?” Stiles asks, staring.

 “About Derek. I didn’t—I didn’t say anything to anyone, okay?”

 Stiles opens his mouth to ask more questions, but he’s called over the intercom to come down into the office. It’s then he notices literally everyone is staring at him, and whispering about him. He looks at Scott. “They found out?”

 “I didn’t say anything, I promise.” Scott whispers. “I didn’t even tell Allison or Isaac or Kira.”

 Stiles nods. “I know you didn’t, buddy. I’ll see you later.”

 The walk to the office is what Stiles imagines a death march to be like. Everyone is staring at him, going quite the moment he’s in earshot and whispering the moment he’s out of it. He has no chance to run from this. Not anymore.

 Harris is in the principal’s office waiting for him. So is his father. The principal gives him a tight smile. “Stiles, please. Take a seat.”

 “I’d rather stand, if that’s okay.” he says, eyeing Harris. “Is everything okay?”

 “No, I’m afraid it’s not.”

 “I should’ve known something was going on.” Harris hisses. “There’s no way you could’ve passed your Chem class unless you were _sleeping_ your way through it.”

 Stiles grits his teeth, while his father opens up his mouth with the intention of possibly biting Harris’ nose off his face before the principal bursts in with “It’s been brought to our attention that you and Mr. Hale had an inappropriate relationship.” the principal explains. “And I’m concerned about the classes you were taking from him.”

 Stiles looks at his dad. “What’s going on?” he demands.

 “Just answer the questions, son.” he orders. “Did you or did you not have a relationship with Derek Hale?”

 Stiles looks at the principal and then at Harris, then back to his dad, straightening his shoulders. “Yeah, I did.”

 His dad’s lip twitches, anger—and maybe shame—turning him red.

 “And, Stiles, did you ever use this relationship to your advantage in your classes?”

 Stiles can’t look away from his dad, but his dad can’t look at him. It hurts more than he wants to admit. “No, sir. I didn’t.”

 “It seems that you had a paper, earlier in the year, in which you first received a D minus only to have it changed to an A a few days later.”

 Stiles swivels to the principal. “That’s not…we weren’t even in a relationship then! That was Greenburg’s fault! He put my paper on the internet to make it look like I cheated! Dad!” He looks over pleadingly.

 His dad stares hard at the desk before nodding and raising his eyes to the principal’s. “I can confirm that there was an altercation about that.”

 The principal doesn’t seem any more appeased. “And the chemistry class you were taking under his supervision? You never used the relationship to your advantage then?”

 “No!”

 “You couldn’t even pass it the first time.” Harris spits. “What makes you think we’d believe you’re suddenly A material?”

 “Because you’re an asshole! You failed me for correcting you! Which, subsequently, _saved the whole damn school_.” Stiles growls. The principal and his dad shift uncomfortably. He turns to the principal. “Hale didn’t even manage the grades for my online class. He was just a supervisor. The grades were determined by the computer system.”

 Harris turns to the principal. “You can’t believe that. I’m sure Hale had some sort of override!”

 “Please,” Stiles begs. “The relationship had nothing to do with school. We didn’t discuss school, we didn’t discuss grades outside of school…I was stupid, and that’s my fault. Don’t fire him for this. If you have to do something, keep me back, but don’t fire him.”

 “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” the principal says. “Actions against Mr. Hale had to be swift and severe.”

 “How did you even…” Stiles stops and looks at his dad. “Dad, _tell them_.”

 “Stiles, this is serious.”

 “No. Fuck you. _Fuck you_.” Stiles snaps. He turns to the principal. “We didn’t do anything wrong. I am an _adult_ and we were perfectly appropriate about it. I’m not even addressing how _stupid_ you are.” he points at Harris. “I’m out of here. Send me a letter to let me know if I’m expelled for not.”

 “Stiles, wait!” his dad orders.

 Stiles doesn’t listen. He stomps out and slams the door behind him, which makes the secretary jump. He bails out of the school and dials as he drives. He gets Derek’s voicemail. “I know what happened. They called me in and… _fuck_ , Derek, I’m so sorry. I’m coming over. I need to see you. We need to talk.”

 He’s halfway there when his phone rings again. He answers quickly. “Derek?”

 “Don’t come, Stiles.” he says quietly. “Go back to school. Or go home. Don’t come here.”

 “We have to talk. We need—there’s so much we need to—”

 “There’s rules against things like this for a reason, Stiles.”

 “I’m an adult! I can make my own decisions!”

 “You’re eighteen. That doesn’t make you an adult.”

 “I was an adult when you were fucking me.” Stiles says, and it doesn’t come out as sharp as he wishes it would’ve.

 “Don’t come over, Stiles.” he says firmly. “We don’t have anything to talk about—”

 “Fuck if we don’t! Derek, please, just let me come over. I need to talk to you, okay? We need to talk, to get this all worked out because I’m _miserable_ right now and—”

 “Stiles, I don’t want to see you.”

 Stiles loses his air. “What?”

 “I don’t want to see you.” Derek repeats. “I don’t want you to come over, and I don’t want you calling me anymore. Leave it alone.”

 Stiles hangs up because he has no response to that. He feels numb. Way, way too numb. He pulls over because he’s going to kill someone if he keeps driving—most likely himself—and he’s scared. He chucks his phone to the other side of his car so he won’t have to look at it. He scrambles for his glove box and digs to the back. The pencil case is old and battered and surprisingly still there despite his dad’s numerous searches.

 He stares at it for a few long minutes and then calls Scott. “I need you to come pick me up, buddy.” he tell shim, shaking. The razors in the box rattle. “I’m in bad shape.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, surprise! The story is finished! No, I don't mean with this chapter. I mean all the other chapters are ready for uploading! So you guys have to decide how you want them. Do we want to stick with the old Monday update schedule? Do you want all the chapters today? Do you want them uploaded once-a-day? You decide! Leave your opinion in the comments or send me a message on tumblr :)  
> [My Tumblr!](http://thepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com/)


	12. And Suddenly Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles just tries to get through each day without thinking about Derek. He doesn't always succeed, but he tries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys were really, really vocal about me putting the rest of this up all at once...so, here I am, putting it up all at once!

 He’s not really expecting Derek to answer, if he even lives there anymore. It’s been two months—Stiles is graduating in another three—and he hasn’t heard anything about Derek Hale from anyone but Greenburg, who seems to take pleasure in slamming Stiles against lockers now that his protector his gone. But he’s tired of looking at the fucking thing, sitting neatly in his bedroom. So he sets it on the ground and bangs on the door twice before turning his back and pulling his hood up against the rain outside.

 The door creaks open unexpectedly and Derek’s voice calls his name. He skids to a halt, one foot on the stairs already. He turns his head and swallows.

 “Stiles,” Derek says again, looking dumbfounded. “What are you—”

 “I’m tired of having that sit in my room.” he says flatly, gestures to the package on the floor. “I don’t want it. You can do whatever you want with it.”

 Derek picks it up. “What is it?”

 “Your Christmas present. Kind of…didn’t get a chance to give it to you.”

 Derek flinches, and Stiles can’t help the tiny bit of satisfaction he gets from it. “Oh. You didn’t have to give it to me, you could’ve—”

 “Whatever. I bought it for you. I don’t care what you do with it, I just don’t want it anymore.”

 “Do you…I mean, we could talk. If you wanted.”

 Stiles snorts and turns, stomping down the stairs.

 “Stiles, wait!”

 “Why?” Stiles calls over his shoulder. He does pause at the door, but that’s mostly to brace himself for the run through the rain, which is fucking _cold_ in February, than to give Derek a chance to catch him.

 Derek does catch him though, and he grabs the door to keep Stiles from opening it. “Please. I just want to talk.”

 “Where were you when _I_ wanted to talk?” Stiles demands.

 Derek flinches again. “I know. I was an ass.”

 “You were more than an ass. You were…fuck, Derek, I don’t even have words for how angry I am with you. Just take the damn gift and leave me alone.”

 “I was scared, Stiles. I’m sorry, but I was scared. They’d told me that seeing you could result in legal action and I was terrified and I’m _sorry_.” Stiles shoves against the door. Derek’s hold breaks and just like that, Stiles is thrown into a downpour. He huffs and jams his hands in his pockets, jogging to his car. His heart is beating way too fast and he can’t breathe right but he tries to shut the panic out when he shuts his car door.

 It doesn’t work.

 He screams through his teeth, slamming his hands hard enough into the steering wheel that it creaks dangerously. He lowers his head to it none-too-gently and sobs because he can’t do anything else. His passenger door opens but Stiles doesn’t look up. Doesn’t even pause. He wonders if he ignores Derek long enough if he’ll go away.

 “Stiles,” Derek says carefully, when Stiles’ pathetic wails are more like pathetic whimpers.

 Stiles takes a breath, shaky and rough, and manages to get out “You left me when I needed you.”

 “I know.” Derek agrees quietly. It hurts that he doesn’t even try to deny it.

 “You fucked me and that was it. You threw me away.” Stiles’ voice cracks and it only serves to make him angrier. “Who _does_ that, Derek?” His thigh is starting to itch, so he tightens his hands on the wheel. “And then I got ambushed. You didn’t even warn me. You just left and that was it. Wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t…” Stiles sits back and slams his head into the headrest. Derek winces. “Look, I don’t know what this was for you, but I fell in love with you, okay? So if you ever, for even a minute, thought I was worth something, leave me alone.”

 “Stiles.” Derek breathes, shattered. “Stiles, I _do_ love you.”

 “The way you ended it could say some different things.” He snaps, eyes pinning Derek. And just like that, all of his anger is gone. Derek’s sitting in his car, miserable and wet with that stupid package in his lap. Stiles feels his lip tremble and wishes he could look away but instead he lets his vision blur. “What do you want from me, Derek?”

 Derek reaches over and slides his hand under his hood, into his hair. He grips hard and forces Stiles to keep eye contact. “I’m so, so sorry I hurt you, Stiles. I never meant to.”

 “Stop.” Stiles snaps, trying to jerk away. “Stop saying that when you don’t mean it! You left when the going got tough and I’m not going to come crawling back to you.”

 “I’m the one crawling, okay?” Derek snaps back at him. It feels good. Makes Stiles happy that he’s at least a little angry about it, too. “ _I_ was an idiot. _I_ was the one who left you, and nothing could ever make that okay, I know that, but, Stiles, I can’t keep doing this.”

 “Then let me leave.” Stiles begs, even as he grabs onto Derek’s wrist.

 “That’s what I can’t keep doing.” Derek admits. “I’m tired of being away from you. I’m tired of being miserable. I miss you.”

 “I was here, Derek. I was always here. Where the fuck were you?”

 Derek pulls him forward then, kisses him, but Stiles shoves him back and lands an awkward but effective punch to his shoulder. “Don’t!” Stiles yells. “Don’t think you can just kiss me and make it better! Get out of my car!”

 “Stiles—”

 “Get out!”

 Derek’s eyes are wide but he puts his hands up between them and then stumbles out. Stiles doesn’t even wait for him to move before he starts the Jeep and peels out of the parking lot.

***

 The months pass quietly. Compared to the few before it, it’s nearly laughable, but pretty soon Stiles is too caught up in a rush of college acceptances and graduation ceremony bullshit to worry about the way Harris keeps glaring at him and trying to find excuses to fail him or Greenburg and his crew slamming him into lockers.

 He gets busy enough he forgets about the parcel forgotten in the foot well of his passenger’s seat until Scott picks it up with a raised eyebrow. It’s raining this morning, so Stiles had picked Scott up—because motorbikes and rain were just not a good mix—and he climbed in without incident until something crinkled under his feet. He raises the package curiously. “Something you’re hiding from your dad?”

 Stiles clears his throat. “No, it’s uh…that’s Derek’s Christmas present.”

 Scott gets really quiet really fast, then clears his throat awkwardly. “Think it’s too late to return it?” he asks, voice high.

 Stiles snorts and nods. “Yeah, probably. You can have it, if you want.”

 “It’s not…weird?”

 “Nah.” Stiles shakes his head, thinks of the conversation he and Derek had had about it. “Make Allison wear it sometime.” he suggests.

 Scott drops it like it’s burned him. “Dude, you said it wasn’t weird!”

 “It’s not! Jesus, just open it.”

 Scott does, reluctantly. He peers inside and then suddenly he’s ripping open the package and revealing the leather jacket fully. “ _Dude_.”

“I know.”

 “This must’ve cost a fortune!”

 Stiles shrugs.

 Scott admires it, turning it one way and then the other. “Jesus, this is fucking _soft_.” he marvels. “Wow.”

 “Yeah, I get it. It’s great.” Stiles says flatly, maybe hitting the breaks a little hard when he reaches a parking spot.

 “Sorry,” Scott mumbles, setting the jacket in the backseat and exchanging it for his backpack. Stiles slams his door and huffs, trying to shake off his irritation before he hits the threshold. The way Allison throws herself on him helps. “Uh, hi, but I’m not the boyfriend you’re looking for.”

 “Don’t pretend we wouldn’t have been amazing.” she teases, kissing his cheek. Kira’s leaning pretty heavily on Isaac behind her, and Scott’s standing smugly next to them.

 He looks them all over with a frown. “What’s going on?”

 “Well…” Kira sings, shrugging.

 “Nothing’s going on.” Allison argues, ignoring her girlfriend. “We’re just happy to see you.”

 “Scott?”

 Scott just grins stupidly.

 Stiles narrows his eyes and looks at all of them individually before telling them “I refuse to be a fifth member of your relationship. I’m cool with you all being in it, but I refuse.”

 Allison punches his shoulder with a rueful smile. Isaac snorts and says “You’re not my type, anyway.”

 Stiles frowns at them as they pause a few feet away from him. He opens his locker and—“Oh, Jesus Christ, you guys.”

 “Happy Birthday!” Scott crows, jumping on him in a half hug, half tackle maneuver that knocks Stiles into the lockers next to him. “I bet you thought we forgot!”

 “I forgot.” Stiles laughs, shoving Scott off him. “I’m not even going to ask how you got into my locker.”

 Allison leans over and kisses his cheek. “Good, you probably don’t want to know.”

 Lydia appears then, looking smug. She probably had a hand in this, too. Somehow. “How’s it feel to be old?” she asks airily.

 Stiles loops an arm over her shoulders. “You’re even _bigger_ jailbait now.” he reminds her. Lydia may seem older, but she was probably the youngest in the whole group. Being brilliant and getting bumped up a grade did that for a person. Even if she was turning eighteen in a few weeks.

 She rolls her eyes and hands him an envelope, inside which is a lovingly crafted card—probably Scott’s handiwork, if him bouncing up and down was any indication—with all of their signatures. “You guys are ridiculous.” he tells them, shoving it into his locker and plucking out the cupcake. Isaac produces a lighter and lights the candle on top quickly. Stiles blows it out just as quickly and gives Scott the candle. Scott grins and sticks it between his teeth.

 Stiles has half the cupcake devoured in a second, and Isaac snorts. “You’re the messiest eater I know.” he declares.

 Stiles loops an arm around his neck and kisses him soundly, smearing frosting across his face. Kira cackles so Stiles swoops in and smears some on her mouth too, though she tries to dodge and ends up with frosting up to her ear. Scott licks some off her cheek while Lydia kisses some off Stiles and Stiles takes a moment to appreciate the easy show of affection in his group of friends.

 Which is, of course, the moment Harris dives in and starts yelling. “No public displays of affection! And what the hell is this?” he snatches the candle from Scott’s teeth “ _Fire in school,_ Stilinski? I’ll be telling the principal about this!”

 Everyone blinks at him for a moment, and then Lydia narrows her eyes and Stiles gets to lean back against his locker and enjoy the show. “There’s no fire, Mr. Harris, and it’s not our fault your bigoted head can’t wrap around the love of a group of friends who have been closer to each other than you have been to a raise in _fifteen years_. And if you think calling out Stiles on his sexuality or those four for their relationship choices is acceptable behavior, _have I got news for you_.”

 Harris blinks a few times, sputters and looks at them all, highly confused by the sudden attack from one of his best students. “The rule book clearly states—” he finally gets out.

 “Then yell at the kids making out behind the bleachers, not us, who are trying to celebrate an important occasion.”

 Harris sputters again and turns around, stomping away. Scott frowns and mutters “He took my candle.”

 That’s what breaks Stiles, who begins howling in laughter because Scott looks so fucking dejected about him taking the fucking candle. “Scott, I love you, man.”

 “I know.” Scott says proudly, kissing Kira again. “But we’ve got to get to class. Lydia might be able to chew out Harris, but if Madam Morrelle has good reason to give us detention, even you can’t save us.”

 Lydia smirks and they watch Kira, Scott, and Allison all walk hand in hand down the hall. Stiles nudges Isaac. “Does anyone ever get left out?”

 “Nah. We’re pretty thorough.”

 Stiles cringes and Lydia laughs. All in all, it’s a pretty perfect birthday morning.

 It doesn’t, however, translate into the afternoon. His teacher’s have no sympathy for seniors and give them possibly _more_ homework than before so they can potentially pull their grades up or so the teacher’s can fail them. He climbs into his Jeep alone at the end of the day—Allison was kidnapping Scott for some one-on-one time Stiles really didn’t need to know about—with piles and piles of homework. He leans back and closes his eyes for a minute, just wanting to sleep. Maybe a nap could be allowed. He was going to be salutatorian after all.

 Someone raps on his window, pulling him out of his pseudo-nap. He blinks blearily at the glass and then frowns, rolling his window down. “Laura?”

 “You have some time to talk?”

 “Uh, what about? Is my dad okay?”

 She frowns now. “Of course he is. No, this is about Derek.”

 Stiles flinches. “Look, no offense, but I’d rather not.”

 “Stiles, please.” she begs quietly. “Just a couple minutes. We could go for coffee or we could do it here. You need to hear some things.”

 Stiles sighs and nods to his passenger’s door. She climbs in next to him and picks at her nails for a minute before saying “He’s a mess.”

 “Yeah, he didn’t look so hot when I saw him last.” Stiles agrees.

 She seems surprised. “When did you last see him?”

 “February. I came by to give him something. I didn’t actually expect he’d be there, but he was and he was…” Stiles trails off, rubbing at his eye. “Yeah. Anyway. What’s that have to do with me?”

 “Everything.” she laughs, looking confused. “Derek loves you.”

 “No. No, I’m not going through this again.” Stiles snaps. “Look, I’ve gotten the whole ‘I love you’ thing from Derek already. He wasn’t there for me when I needed him, and I’m not just going to forget that.”

 Laura looks a little chastised, at least. “Derek’s had a rough time. You probably know that, though. You guys were…really close.”

 Stiles looks at her uneasily. “How’d you find out?”

 She looks at him, confused. “You thought I didn’t know?”

 “We weren’t exactly broadcasting it.”

 “I knew he had a crush on you. I called him on it. I’m the reason you two ended up together in the first place.”

 Stiles blinks, and then closes his eyes, images of Derek looking hung over but happy emerging. “Why are you telling me this?” he asks finally.

 “Because you need to know that Derek’s not good at people. He’s terrible with them, actually, which is why I’ll never cease to be amazed that he wants to be a teacher. So he panicked when your friend found out and didn’t know what to do.” Laura suddenly turns hard and unforgiving. “But you shouldn’t have turned him in.”

 Stiles blinks, startled. “Turn him in? I didn’t turn him in.”

 “Well, someone did. He didn’t turn himself in.”

 Stiles frowns, mostly because he’d never considered it before. One day he and Derek were a secret and the next they just…weren’t. “I don’t know who turned us in.” he admits. “But it wasn’t me.”

 “What about your friend? The one who found out?”

 “He wouldn’t. None of them would’ve.”

 She watches him for a long moment before she nods. Then she moves to get out, only pausing for a moment to say “You should really talk to him. Consider…consider forgiving him.”

 Stiles swallows thickly because now that he’s had months to miss him, he’s not so angry. He’s closer to forgiving Derek then he’d like. He nods. “Sure.”

 “He’s staying with me, now. Couldn’t stand to stay here, I guess.” She pulls out her card and a pen, jotting down an address on the back. “Stop by sometime, maybe. I promise I’ll make myself scarce.”

 Stiles takes it. “Thanks, I guess.”

 She gives him a weak smile and says “He really does love you. Still can’t stop talking about you. It’s kind of disgusting.”

 Stiles laughs, because it’s probably the most normal thing someone’s said to him about Derek since…ever. He nods and she shuts the door. He tucks the card in his wallet and goes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi there. Did you know I have a [tumblr?](http://thepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com/)


	13. And Suddenly Maturity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finds out a few things.

 “Are you gonna go see him?” Scott asks around a mouthful of Doritos.

 Stiles shrugs, eyes focused on the video game. “I don’t know. I’m not so mad anymore, so maybe. I get that he panicked. I mean, it was still a shitty thing to do—” Stiles jerks the controller like it’ll help him avoid the bullet any better. It doesn’t. “—but I mean I realize why he did it.”

 “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

 “It’s not your fault, Scotty.” Stiles reassures him again. “I mean, it’s not like you said anything to anyone.”

 “No.” Scott snorts. “Not even Allison. She was pissed when she found out, but she understood. Kinda like you and Derek.”

 Stiles rolls his eyes. “Right.”

 There’s a long stretch of silence, where Stiles is trying to choose his words carefully. Eventually he gives up, because if there’s one thing he’s absolute shit at it’s being politically correct. “Laura said something to me. About Derek.”

 “Wasn’t that why she ambushed you in the first place?”

 “Yeah, but…she said that someone had to turn him in. She’s right, of course she is, but…she thought it was me and I—I don’t know what I thought, but…but now I’m just wondering who it was, you know?”

 “Well, you could ask your dad? They probably told him, you know.”

 Stiles winces. “Yeah, he’s still a little beyond pissed about the whole thing.”

 “Maybe you should talk to him before talking to Derek. It would be kind of shitty to patch things up with him and have things still rough with your dad.”

 Stiles sighs. “Yeah. It’s just…how do you go about talking to your dad about the fact you were sleeping with a teacher, you know? It’s weird.”

 “Talking to your dad about sleeping with anyone is weird, dude. He’s the sheriff. Even if it was me, he’d have run, like, thirty background checks. And then he’d do the whole ‘I’m the Sheriff, I own a gun’ speech.”

 Stiles snorts and kicks Scott’s controller out of his hand.

 They play about four more rounds before Stiles’ dad gets home, and then a couple more after because Stiles is a coward. Eventually, Scott’s time is up. He stands and offers a sympathetic shoulder pat. “You can always move in with me, buddy.” he promises.

 “Thanks.” Stiles sighs. “I’ll see you around.”

 Stiles doesn’t leave the basement when Scott does. He hears his dad making small talk with him and then hears Scott leave, but he can’t make himself stand up and move. Eventually, his dad hollers down in the basement for him to come upstairs, and he doesn’t really have a choice.

 His dad glances at him when he comes up. “How was school?”

 “Fine. Scott was freaking out about some of the Econ homework, but I lent him my notes.”

 “Nice of you.” his dad compliments, passing him a pizza box. “I picked up pizza for dinner. Hope that’s okay.”

 Stiles stands dumbly for a minute, fingers burning before he gets enough sense to set the box on the table. “Dad, how did you find out?”

 “Find out what, son?”

 “About me and Derek?”

 His dad stills, halfway between the open fridge and Stiles. He turns. “You and Mr. Hale?”

 Stiles nods. “Yeah. How did you find out?”

 His dad clears his throat and sets his groceries in the fridge before shutting it. “He came to the house.”

 Stiles blinks. “He _what?_ ”

 “Few days after the New Year.” he explains tightly. “He came over and wanted to see you and…I told him no.”

 “You turned him in. _You?_ ”

 “Stiles, you were a mess. I thought he’d been using you, and I—”

 “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” he demands.

 “Because you didn’t need to know. You were hurting and it’s my job not just as your father but as the sheriff to protect you. I did my job.”

 “Dad, you should’ve talked to me! You should’ve…oh my god. He came here. He came when he knew you were here, he _did_ turn himself in, Jesus Christ.” He turns and bolts for the door.

 “Stiles, where are you going?” his dad demands, chasing after him.

 “Sacramento.” Stiles snaps, snatching his keys.

 “Stiles, you’re not going to Sacramento tonight!” his dad argues.

 “I need to talk to him. I need to see him. Dad, please. I know you thought you were doing what was best, but I need to do this now.”

 His dad frowns, clearly conflicted, then points a finger at him angrily. “If you don’t come home tomorrow—”

 “I will.” he promises. “I’ll call you when I leave.” He’s out the door before his dad can put up more protests.

 The drive is way too long. Stiles even speeds a little, but it’s still over three hours and he nearly abandons the Jeep just to _run_ the rest of the way. He pulls up to Laura’s address—a small house in a homey neighborhood—and slams on the breaks, staring at the house with heaving breaths. This is it, he decides. This is his big heroic movie moment. He reaches back and grabs the stupid jacket and then runs to the door, banging on it until Laura yells “Oh my god, I’m _coming!_ ”

 She pulls open the door with irritation on her face that clears the moment she sees him. “Oh. Um. Derek, I have to go out.” she yells back into the house. “He’s in the living room. To the left.”

 Stiles nods and pushes past her. Derek looks pretty miserable, unshaven and bored as he watches _Nineteen Kids and Counting_. Stiles takes a moment just to look at him. It’s been months, and it shows. Derek looks like he hasn’t done an ounce of personal grooming since he saw him in February. He gathers his courage after a few minutes and clears his throat. Derek turns to him, equally bored until he registers who’s standing there. He rushes to his feet, knocking over a beer bottle and cursing when it splashes all across the coffee table. “Oh, fuck—”

 “Language.” Stiles laughs nervously, wincing at the joke himself. “Sorry.”

 “I’m—let me just get a towel, and uh—sit. Sit.”

 Stiles does sit. Derek disappears and reappears a moment later with a towel, pausing to look at Stiles like he’d thought it was some kind of dream. When Derek’s finished mopping up the beer he sits with the dirty towel crumpled in his hands. “You’re here.” he says at last.

 “Yeah, uh…you left this in my car. It’s your Christmas present. Scott kind of opened it.”

 Derek takes the jacket, blinking. “Oh.” He looks it over and Stiles sees the moment his breath catches. “Oh my god.”

 Stiles smirks. “I guess I did okay.”

 “Stiles, this is—how? _How?_ ”

 “A lot of Googling, mainly.” Stiles says, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s nearly exact to the one you’re dad gave you.”

 “It is.” Derek agrees, staring at the jacket. Then he looks up, confusion written all over him. “You drove four hours to give me this?”

 “Uh, no. I mean, for one it was like three hours because I may have sped a lot and for another I needed to tell you that…” Stiles tongue goes dry. He swallows and forces out “I forgive you. I don’t blame you for what you did.”

 Derek looks doubtful.

 “I had a series of epiphanies after we last talked, starting with Harris is a fucking _douchebag._ ” Derek has the grace to laugh at that. “And, uh…and ending with we both did some really not okay things these last few months.”

 “Stiles—”

 “No, listen. I need to get this out. My dad was the one who turned you in, and I didn’t…he never told me you came over. I didn’t know, and I don’t know why but that makes _every_ difference to me.”

 “You didn’t know that?” Derek asks, bewildered. “He said he—”

 “My dad isn’t perfect. He’s overprotective and takes his job way too seriously but he’s my dad and I love him. And you’re not perfect, either. You’re overprotective and take _your_ job way too seriously and I love you, too. I mean, it’s…it’s different, obviously, because I definitely do not love you like I love my dad, which, _wow_ , we’re just not going there. But I have been going crazy for months about what the hell happened and I miss you. I miss you and I love you.”

 Derek blinks at him for a long minute. “You love me?”

 “Yeah.” Stiles says, for once short on words.

 “You told me you didn’t want to see me.” Derek says.

 “So did you.” Stiles points out. A shadow of guilt crosses over Derek’s face. “It’s okay, though. I think we were both just…freaked out. About everything. We kind of fell out of a plane without parachutes, but I think I’ve got it figured out if you wanna…you  know, talk about it. Like the adults we apparently are.”

 Derek laughs at that, too, quiet but genuine. “Okay.”

 “When I came to see you, I was looking for a fight.” Stiles explains. It had taken awhile to admit it, but it’s true, so he says it. “And, uh…I really wanted you to fight back. I wanted you to be mad at the world, too, but I guess you’re just more mature than I am because you weren’t. You were just guilty and I was tired of seeing you guilty about something I thought was worth fighting for.”

 “I panicked when you called.” Derek says in response. “After everything at school, that is. I was freaking out because I had to tell my family and I was freaking out because what if what everyone was telling me was right and I hurt you and used you and—”

 “You didn’t.”

 “You kept saying I did. And it scared me, even though I knew…I mean, I thought I knew that you were okay with it. It scared me that I’d hurt you.”

 Stiles nods. “Yeah.” They sit in silence, contemplating their lives before Stiles speaks up with “My dad let me come down, though. So I don’t think he hates you too much.”

 Derek looks surprised. “He did?”

 “Yeah. He knows I came to see you and everything. I think he feels guilty. He thought you weren’t serious about it like I was, I guess.”

 “I came to your house.” Derek says. “With him there. Asking to see you.”

 “Yeah, well, we all do stupid things.” Stiles shrugs.

 “Yeah.” Derek agrees, a tired laugh shaking free. It turns into exhausted giggling and pretty soon Stiles is laughing with him, because it’s _ridiculous_. He’s been angry for months and now Derek is here and it’s good again. Just like that. When it quiets down again, Stiles looks up to see Derek already studying him. “I missed you.” Stiles tells him honestly. “A lot.”

 “I missed you.” Derek agrees.

 “It’s going to take awhile. You know, to get back to normal.”

 “I know.”

 “But I really need to hug you.”

 Derek grins and stands. Stiles leaps up and throws himself forward into Derek, clinging desperately. Derek groans, maybe because Stiles has shoved something where it wasn’t supposed to go, but more likely because he’s missed this just as much. Stiles finds himself being hoisted onto Derek’s hips and he doesn’t mind. He likes it, actually, because it brings them closer. He hides his face in Derek’s neck and breathes. It feels like the first time he’s done it since New Year’s.

 “I don’t want you to go.” Derek mutters into his hair.

 “I don’t want to go.” he agrees. “At all.”

 “Do you have to?”

 He nods, clings tighter. “My dad said I had to.”

 Derek sighs. “Okay.”

 “Sit down before you drop me.” Stiles laughs, and Derek listens even though they both know the probability of Derek dropping him is slight. Still, it’s better like this. More comfortable. Stiles scratches his nails through Derek’s hair, revels in the way Derek shudders under him. “I’m sure there’s more we need to talk about.” Stiles mutters. “But I just can’t think beyond how happy I am right now.”

 Derek huffs a laugh, quiet and affectionate. It’s the best thing Stiles has heard in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [tumblr!](http://thepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com/)


	14. And Suddenly It's Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek get their own happy ending.

 “You ordered a size too large.” Lydia informs him primly, picking at his robe. He sees the disdain clearly through the mirror.

 Stiles shrugs, and admittedly the robe slips from his shoulder a little. “It’s not like it matters, I’ll just be giving it away. Or throwing it out.”

 “You have no sense of nostalgia, Stiles Stilinski.”

 Stiles hums an affirmative and fixes his mortarboard on his head. Lydia rolls her eyes and reaches up behind him to put it on properly. “You’re hopeless.” she tells him.

 “All the more reason you shouldn’t move to Boston.”

 Lydia gives him a sad smile, and suddenly her eyes tear up. Stiles spins around and snags her close. “Lyds, I’m sorry, don’t cry. You’ll be so mad if I messed up your makeup.”

 She laughs, but it’s hopeless. She’s crying now, clinging to him. “You weren’t supposed to be this important to me, you asshole.”

 “I know. I’m sorry.”

 “You were just that annoying prick of a kid who had a weird crush on me.”

 “I can be that weird prick of a kid again.” he promises. She laughs again, pulling him tighter.

 “I’m going to miss you so much, Stiles. Fuck.”

 “This isn’t forever, Lyds.” he reminds her softly, pulling back to wipe at her streaked mascara. “You’ll come back for Christmas and Thanksgiving and Memorial Day…”

 She laughs, thumbing away tears herself. “Yeah, I know. But you’re not just that annoying prick, anymore, you know? You’re my best friend.”

 “Shut up,” he orders, swallowing thickly. “Or you’ll make me cry.”

 They both jump when Stiles’ dad raps on the door, peaking in. “Okay?”

 Lydia turns away and Stiles nods with a watery grin. “Almost ready.”

 His dad has the decency to look sympathetic, though he also looks slightly amused. He shuts the door, though, and Stiles loops an arm around Lydia, turning her to face his mirror, squishing them together so they can both fit. “Look at us, Lydia Martin.” he wonders. “Valedictorian and salutatorian.” He looks at her and shakes her shoulders. “Best friends, even.”

 She snorts and elbows him. “Dick.”

 He kisses her cheek and tells her he’ll be downstairs. Scott’s there, fidgeting with his robes. “Hey, man.”

 “Hey. How’s Lydia?”

 “A mess. But I didn’t tell you that.”

 Scott grins and nods. “Excited?”

 He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s all done already, you know? This just feels like they’re squeezing every last bit out of us.”

 Scott snorts and Stiles’ dad appears looking fairly disappointed in his son’s lack of excitement. “This is a big moment, Stiles. It’s not for you, it’s for us weeping parents.”

 “My mom’s already in tears.” Scott admits.

 “Yeah, why are you even here?” Stiles asks, frowning. “I mean, I always love seeing you, but shouldn’t you be with one of your girlfriends or boyfriend? Or your mom?”

 “Mom said she needed a minute. Plus my dad showed up, so I think she’s trying to talk him out of staying too long.” Scott grimaces, then brightens a little. “And I would be with one of my sweethearts, but Allison and her family are kind of big on keeping today about family and Kira’s parents are pretty similar.”

 “Isaac?”

 “Isaac is busy.” Scott says bluntly, but he doesn’t look mad, so Stiles doesn’t worry too much about a sudden end of year break-up. He shudders to think how it would work with two others involved.

 Lydia suddenly glides down the stairs, looking put together except for her glassy eyes. “Scott,” she greets airily. “You aren’t with the others?”

 “Busy.” Stiles interjects before Scott can launch into his explanation again. “They’re busy.”

 She shrugs. “Okay. We should probably get going.”

 Stiles’ dad agrees and quickly rounds them up outside, shoving them into the Jeep that he insists on driving—“Just today, Stiles, don’t argue with me!”

 They give Lydia the passenger’s seat mostly so Scott and Stiles can give each other teary eyed glances without being too suspicious. Though if Stiles’ dad’s snort is anything to go by, they don’t really succeed in being covert.

 By the time they reach the school, Stiles’ is a mess. He clings to Scott and Lydia and when they find Allison, Kira, and Isaac, he clings to them, too. They hook up like Skydivers, everyone but Isaac breaking into tears. Isaac just seems utterly amused by the scene and when Kira punches him weakly he kisses the top of her head as an apology.

 The ceremony is long. Much longer than Stiles would have preferred it to be. Especially since his name is on the end of the list, so he gets his diploma with only a row and a half behind him. He smirks at Harris as he passes and accepts an apology from the principal for the ‘rather unusual’ situation he’s been through. Stiles even manages not to trip, so by the time they’re announcing the class, it makes sense that he throws his mortarboard in the air and it somehow boomerangs back into his eye.

 Scott’s still laughing by the time they stumble out of the auditorium and Stiles punches him—again—before Allison suggests a last lap around the school. They all agree, Kira hopping onto Scott’s back and Allison sliding under Isaac’s arm. Even Lydia cozies up to Stiles, looking weepy and exhausted.

 “Hey, that’s where you knocked Greenburg’s teeth out.” Scott points out helpfully, shifting Kira higher on his back.

 “That’s where his goonies also knocked me unconscious.” Stiles adds.

 “That’s where Derek saved your life.” Lydia mumbles quietly.

 Stiles smirks. The rest of the group doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it, so he takes the memory for what it is. “Yeah.” he agrees.

 “That’s where I asked you out.” Scott points to a water fountain as they pass it, grinning at Allison.

 “Yep, and over there is where I asked Kira out because you were too afraid to.” Allison points to the history room.

 “Asking someone to be in a four-way polyamorous relationship is kind of hard.” Stiles sympathizes. Scott nods and Kira kisses his temple lovingly.

 “Isn’t that the room you and Derek got together in, too?” Isaac asks curiously.

 “No, that was the other one.” Stiles points and frowns, because all the other rooms seemed pretty tightly locked up for the summer, but this one’s wide open with light spilling out of it. He gets more suspicious as he friends start moving faster towards it. It gets to a point that Lydia actively grabs his arm and _pulls_ him into the room.

 His heart skips a beat and he sputters “Derek?”

 Derek grins. The place is _filled_ with candles, which Stiles is pretty sure is a major fire hazard at _least_. But that’s not what’s really bothering him. What’s bothering him is that Derek’s stuff—his _teaching_ stuff—is everywhere. “Did you set this place up to look like when we first met?”

 “That’s our cue.” Lydia murmurs, kissing his cheek. “Call me later.”

 He watches his friends leave in a daze before turning back to Derek. “What is this?”

 “My classroom.” Derek grins. “And, coincidentally, where we first met. Your dad got me my job back.”

 Stiles heart skips again. “He…oh my god. Oh my _god_ , you’re a teacher again?”

 Derek grins.

 Stiles flies at him, throws his arms around his neck and kisses him for the first time since New Years. He pulls back like Derek’s stung him when he realizes this. “Sorry.” he pants. “I got a little excited.”

 “It’s okay.” Derek promises, moving him closer. “It’s good.”

 Stiles grins again. “You’re a teacher.”

 “I am.”

“But you aren’t my teacher.” he points out.

 “I am not.” he agrees.

 Stiles leans up and kisses him, long and leisurely because it’s not going to matter if they shut the door or even if they get caught. He kisses him because the only thing standing between them now is a robe and a sweater vest. Derek turns him and presses him against the desk, but it’s so soft and unhurried that Stiles doesn’t even stop to make a joke about it. He just sucks Derek’s bottom lips between his teeth and bites.

 Derek’s pull away then, shuddering. “Yeah, this was supposed to be a romantic picnic, not a ‘have sex on my desk’ thing.”

 “It’s only inappropriate because you work here.” Stiles points out, poking Derek in the ribs.

 Derek grins. “That’s true.”

 “I’m not your student.” Stiles reminds him again, reminds himself because he’s so _happy_ to know it.

 “No you aren’t.”

 “You owe me a date.”

 “Oh, yeah?”

 He nods. “We’re talking Starbucks, buddy. Holding hands and everything. You’re even going to have to _sit next to me_.”

 Derek snorts and bumps their noses together. “We’ll make it work.”

 Stiles smiles. “Yeah, we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it everyone! Thank you so much for all the love and support I've received, and thank you for sticking around despite the hiatus. I'm so amazingly thrilled to have this done, but I'm also very heartbroken. This fic is the longest complete fic I've ever written. It's my baby, and I'm now done raising it.  
> Anyway, if you like my writing, I recommend checking out my other stuff and maybe subscribing so you'll know when I add something :)  
> And if you like my commentary, you can go to my [tumblr](http://www.thepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com/), where I never shut up!  
> Thanks so much everyone. Happy Holidays.


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